The Final Problem
by ElusiveSoul
Summary: His mind was beautiful. It was wild and untamed by anyone, but him. People called him a freak, just because of his brilliance, but Victoria Radcliffe has never seen anything more thrilling. The chaos hidden in his piercing eyes was the biggest riddle out of them all. And she loved riddles more than anything.
1. Prologue

**Hi guys! Before we start, I want to say that this is my first Sherlock fic. I'm writing it for fun, but I will do my best to keep everyone as much in character as possible. I do not own anything, except for my own characters and plot. The action starts a little before "The Empty Hearse", so, obviously the 'canon' will change a bit.**

 **Also, English is not my first language, so I apologize for all the mistakes. Please, feel free to point them out. I'd love to hear your opinions regarding the story! :)**

* * *

There was something mesmerising about chaos. It seemed almost impossible to comprehend every single detail, to _understand_ the meaning of every single piece composing that raw artistry; yet, when someone looked closely enough, the anarchy suddenly started to make perfect sense.

The purse, dropped carelessly to the floor, the single high-heeled shoe, red and provocative, or even the cup, stained with delicate, but noticeable lipstick; everything was a part of a well-orchestrated spectacle, meticulously closed off from any audience and re-enacted by only two people –the killer and his victim.

Deciphering the chain of events that had happened behind closed curtains turned out to be incredibly difficult. There was no one who could help in that matter. The history of this particular murder had to be discovered based solely on that surrounding chaos. Chaos, which thrilled her to no end.

Victoria Radcliffe was ordinary most of the time. She lived in a small apartment, she went to work every day of her life and she certainly had her ups and downs, just like every other human being. She was perfectly common; yet standing on a crime scene, so perfectly orchestrated, everything started to feel different.

Her eyes took in everything around, starting from the most obvious evidence, ending on the smallest details that could prove immensely important, or completely irrelevant. The scene surrounding her was directed by someone else, but during those few minutes spent in the room, Victoria felt like she had just stepped into that person's shoes. And it felt thrilling.

She looked around, focusing her eyes on the lifeless body that was facing the floor; the woman's cheek pressed against the cold surface of the wooden panels and her limbs outstretched and weirdly angled. The victim must have been running, when someone shot her; the shoe, missing from her foot and lying a couple of feet away, pointing to a rush, just as her discarded purse. Blood surrounding the woman's head came from a single gunshot wound on her occiput, so the killer must have chased her and fired his shot as soon as he got a chance.

The victim's face was frozen in the expression of utter shock. She didn't want to die and she certainly didn't _expect_ to. Maybe it was a simple break-in gone wrong? No. It couldn't have been. The unlocked doors and closed windows conveyed a very clear message: she must have known the killer. The woman had willingly invited her executioner into the flat, not knowing anything about his vile intentions.

Victoria turned around and looked towards the door. All of the locks had been unlocked, but judging by the marks left on the wood, the victim was meticulous when it came to providing for her own safety. She wouldn't have opened them for just _anyone_. No… Lack of personal photos and the sterile-like environment could mean only one thing: this entire place was a hideout. The woman wanted to run away from something, but what was it? Or _who?_

The killer was someone she'd known, but he didn't murder her with passion. A single gunshot to a carefully picked spot, spoke rather of a person wanting to simply do the job, without emotional engagement. He had to believe in himself; every other person would have fired at least one more shot, just to be safe. The wound was too precise to be the outcome of an ugly feud or a mistake. The killer knew what he was doing and he did it _bloody well_.

"Radcliffe? Radcliffe!" Someone shook her arm, forcing her to blink away her trance.

Greg Lestrade stood before her with a baffled expression; one she got accustomed to, over the past year of working alongside him. It usually meant that her mute analysis started to bother everyone around. Everyone expected detectives to be _vocal_ , since it was the key to a successful investigation, after all. Victoria trusted Lestrade to remind her of that, every time she spaced out yet again. Thus far, it seemed to work pretty well.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, Greg," she muttered and cleared her throat. "The victim must have known the killer. She would have never let him into the apartment otherwise, judging by the number of locks on the door and the way they've been constantly used. She was obsessed with her own safety. There are no personal things in sight, so my bet would be to assume that this place served as a hideout of sorts."

Lestrade looked around with a weird expression on his face, until his eyes landed on Sally Donovan, who busied herself with examining the discarded purse of the victim.

"Donovan, what do you think?"

"It's hardly a crime of passion, as it usually is when the victim knows the killer."

Victoria forced herself to remain calm and not react to the unpleasant tone of Donovan's statement. She didn't know why did Sally dislike her so much, but their cooperation could be described as _strained_ , to put it mildly.

"Usually doesn't mean _always_. Look at the lock, Donovan. They've been used every single day and unlocking them takes a good minute. Our victim wouldn't have bothered to go through all the effort to let in a pizza delivery guy," Victoria snorted and crouched down next to the deceased woman. "Not a crime of passion, but an interesting one still. The killer came in here with the intention to _kill_ , it wasn't a mistake on his part. The wound is almost surgical, which means he knew it would have killed her. This guy was a pro."

Lestrade joined her, observing the wound from a close distance and he finally sighed.

"Fine, he must have known how to handle a gun. But if they've known each other, she probably was aware of his skills. Why would she let him in, if paranoia forbade her from even having personal things here?"

Victoria snorted and stood up, looking at Donovan.

"It's rather obvious, isn't it? Sergeant, did you find her ID?"

"Yes. Margaret Williams. And how is it obvious _?"_

"Well, our Margaret here was _betrayed_ by her ally. Oh and by the way, I seriously doubt that it is her real name."

Both Lestrade and Donovan looked at her with completely baffled expressions and Victoria bit her bottom lip, trying to refrain from another stupid comment.

"What are you bloody talking about?" Lestrade asked, but his voice wasn't entirely annoyed. She could have sworn that it bore hints of admiration.

"She let the killer in without hesitation, so he must have been someone close and trusted. As soon as she realised her mistake, she started running but her heels slowed her down, hence the attempt to leave them behind. The distance from the door indicates that she must have been pretty fast for such a tiny thing, even in stilettos. Usually, people try to hide, to shield themselves from the gun pointed in their directions, but Margaret turned her back on the assaulter, clearly trying to reach _something_ ," Victoria muttered and took a couple of steps towards a lonely cupboard, which hadn't been examined by the forensics yet.

The furniture seemed completely meaningless though; a vase with a dried flower and an electronic clock standing on the top of it were hardly interesting. At first glance, there was nothing special about the shelve, but when Victoria crouched down next to it, suddenly the reason for Margaret's desperate chase became obvious; a gun was strapped underneath the drawer, hidden from the preying eyes by a modest, white tablecloth.

A smile graced Victoria's face as she grabbed the weapon and unlocked it with a distinctive click. She raised it above her head, enabling their colleagues to see the _hidden gem_.

"Her initial instinct wasn't to shield herself; it was to fight back. So if you're asking me if I think 'Margaret' is her real name, the answer's _no_. No secret agent of sorts would have used their real name."

The room fell silent for a moment and Victoria slowly stood up, trying to ignore her raging heartbeat after cracking yet another crime scene. She knew that convincing Lestrade to her version of events would prove to be easy. The year they'd spent working together served as a proof to that statement. As usual, Donovan would turn out to be worse; she would probably be hell bent on proving Victoria wrong, obstructing the investigation and pestering Lestrade about how _weird_ it was to let a _newbie_ dictate any terms. But in the end, it would all come down to one thing: Victoria being right.

"It's possible that she just happened to have a gun." Lestrade had finally managed to find his words, but Radcliffe knew that he was far from arguing with her theory.

"Also, wouldn't a secret agent try to fight her opponent first?" Donovan added and Victoria sighed.

"She did. Why do you think she's made it this far into the room, when the killer had _a gun_? She must have distracted him, or hurt him to buy herself enough time to reach her own weapon. A slight miscalculation on her part," she explained and looked out of the window, allowing a slight smirk to appear on her face.

"I'm not buying it. There's no way in hell that we're dealing with two secret agents, one of them gone rouge," Donovan stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

Victoria opened her mouth to argue with the sergeant, but she closed them a mere second later. A smile appeared on her face and she said:

"You're probably right. I don't know what I was thinking." She couldn't see Donovan's face, as she was too busy watching Mycroft Holmes getting off of a black Jaguar, straightening his immaculate coat and looking upwards, only to find Victoria staring right at him through the window.

"I'm glad we agree," Donovan said with satisfaction, while Lestrade walked towards the window, joining Victoria.

"Bloody hell," he cursed, as Mr Holmes entered the building. "You're right again."

"Of course I am, Lestrade," Victoria laughed in response and turned around to find Donovan with raised eyebrows and a look of pure contempt. "Although I admit, without such a convincing proof, my theory would sound a bit bonkers."

At this time, a man walked into the apartment and looked around, his gaze stopping on the deceased woman for a miniscule moment, and then proceeding to search the room.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm afraid I have to take over this crime scene," the man stated and Victoria smirked. "This murder is a matter of national security."

"Of course, Mr Holmes," Greg answered and shot a sideways glance towards Victoria. "We've figured as much."

"I sincerely doubt that, Detective. Please, feel free to have a well-deserved rest. I'm sure you've done tremendous work here."

Victoria ignored the shivers running up her spine after hearing Mycroft's words. She had the misfortune to meet this man on few occasions, but he had always seemed to be as dangerous as he was during the first time. Maybe it was because of his obvious wealth, or maybe it was the effect of the position he held; one of huge power, according to Lestrade's gossips. Or maybe it was his _eyes_. Those cold, piercing eyes that made her feel naked, but not in a good way; like her very soul was completely exposed.

"Yes, well… Um, my people are at your disposal, Mr Holmes," Lestrade offered and straightened his own jacket, while Mycroft smiled weakly.

"It won't be necessary. Have a good day, Detectives, Sergeant."

Victoria didn't want to wait for another cue to leave. She moved forward, trying to ignore another set of shivers that coursed through her body when she passed Holmes, under the scrutiny of his terrifying eyes. The shivers hadn't stopped until she walked out of the building, inhaling the moist, thick London air.

"He gives me creeps too," Lestrade muttered, joining her on the sidewalk. "His brother was a pain in the arse, but I swear he wasn't nearly as bad as _him_."

Victoria looked at the DI with interest. Times, when anyone from Scotland Yard talked about Sherlock Holmes were so rare, that she learned to avoid the subject at all costs, realising it wasn't something _pleasant_. Figuring it out wasn't hard, especially considering Anderson's personal mission to come up with more and more ridiculous theories about the _fake death_ of an undeniable genius. Everyone felt guilty for believing that Sherlock Holmes had been a _sham_ , for ruining his career and letting him take his own life.

"You're very much like him, you know?" Lestrade asked after a moment of silence.

"Mycroft?"

"No, of course not. Sherlock!"

"Are you trying to say that I'm a high-functioning sociopath, or maybe a _proper genius_?" she chuckled, seeing Lestrade's embarrassed expression.

"You're not as brilliant as him. You're _human_. But sometimes, like today, I can just see that _spark_. Radcliffe, you're one helluva detective, definitely better than most of us. He would have enjoyed working with you, even if he'd probably try to conceal it under a bunch of insults. He was a mean prick, after all."

She smiled at her boss' words, knowing that it took a lot for him to say them. Greg Lestrade might have been at peace with losing a consulting detective, but there were moments, when he sat in silence, muttering something about stepping into Sherlock's shoes. His face always expressed deep sadness, whenever he did it. The younger Holmes could have been a _mean prick_ , but he still managed to make people care for him. Somehow.

"I wish I could have met him. Working with him must have been like having an epiphany most of the time," she said gently and Lestrade burst into laughter.

"Yeah, well, you'd probably feel that way. Most of us felt like blithering idiots."

"Is that how you feel when you work with _me_?" Victoria asked and Greg's laughter died down.

"No. You're nowhere near as intense as he was. He had this _gift_. One in a million, completely impossible to obtain. You know how to watch and observe, how to connect the facts, but he… He was just bloody brilliant."

"Well, then," she said and looked towards the sky. "Let's just pray for Anderson to be right."


	2. Chapter 1

**Here we go! This chapter is an actual start of the story, I think you'll know why very soon :) I hope you'll like it :) Please, let me know what you think!**

 **Also, to all of you who've read the prologue and decided to keep on reading - MASSIVE THANK YOU!**

* * *

Boring. That one simple word described her life _perfectly_ , especially in the last few weeks. It wasn't that London faced no murders whatsoever; they were simply not very difficult to solve. There was a wife, who had gone on a killing spree, after she had discovered her husband's three lovers. There was a robbery gone wrong, which wasn't really surprising, considering the fact that the killer proved to be a blithering idiot.

Those crimes were nothing more, but ordinary and plain. She had to constantly remind herself that being a police officer wasn't about looking for thrills and adrenaline rushes. It was about doing good and, however dull and boring, easy cases helped to bring criminals to justice just as much as cases, which made her heart race.

She stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes, closing one of the files from the latest homicide. Apparently, a jealous husband decided that his wife had no intentions of staying faithful to him, so he killed her before she even had a chance to break her vows. Victoria really wanted to call him a 'raging case of a moron' in her report, but decided against it; Lestrade genuinely liked her, but even he wouldn't go as far as to correct her insubordination.

"It's only ten o'clock, Radcliffe." Donovan sent her a smirk full of contempt in response to Victoria's obnoxious boredom. "I hope you're not praying for a murder."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed and leaned on her elbows. "If I were praying for a murder, I'd pray for an interesting one."

Sally turned around, clearly disgusted by her comment, but Victoria was far from giving a shit. That woman already believed her to be a _freak_ , so what difference did it make? It felt funny in a way; the last person who she called that way, jumped off a building. Donovan tried to be really careful around Victoria, not wanting to drive another person _crazy_ , but it wasn't difficult to decipher her true feelings. It posed a mystery to the young detective, since other people in the office seemed to actually like her, which definitely hadn't been the case where Sherlock Holmes was concerned.

"I'm going to look for some doughnuts. Want some?" Victoria asked, standing up from her seat and moving towards the kitchen, not caring about Donovan's response to the least.

The kitchen turned out to be completely empty, which was a bit surprising. Scotland Yard was massive, after all. Victoria could think of only few occasions, when the kitchen had become completely empty. Every single one of those rare situations had been the outcome of a serious event; a massive case, a cop getting shot, a department meeting. The woman was fairly sure that none of those things took place on that day, but she shrugged it off as a simple _weird event_ and proceeded to search for her snack.

She enjoyed the silence and loneliness for a minute or two, before someone barged into the room and caught her attention immediately. Philip Anderson couldn't be described as the most peaceful person, at least not since the day of Sherlock Holmes' death. He had his temper, he hated when someone dared to spoil his perfect work order, but Holmes pissed him off like no one else. Anderson had been one of the first people to believe in all those lies about Sherlock; he basically drove his career into the gutter. And then Holmes killed himself and the poor forensic expert realised his mistake.

Ever since, he's been obsessed with some bonkers theories that Holmes hadn't really jumped off that roof. For some weird reasons, he believed Victoria to be genuinely interested in listening to them. Sure, he used to follow her around, making sure that no one made fun of her for her unusual _deductive skills_ , as he referred to her methods of assessing a crime scene, but it didn't exactly made them _friends_. Still, she understood him, in some ways. She was no Sherlock Holmes, alright, but everyone claimed her to be a _bit_ like him. Of course Anderson had to be interested in making sure that no one dared to act hostile towards her. He believed that he was righting a wrong by protecting her and she had no heart to stop him. Unlike Holmes, she wasn't a genius, or a sociopath.

"Vic, Sally told me you'd be here!" he stated excitedly and clasped his hands together. "I have a brilliant idea!"

Whatever he meant by ' _a brilliant idea'_ , Victoria knew it must have been the opposite of that. Once in a while, Anderson came up with ridiculous schemes to _lure_ Sherlock out of his 'hiding'. As if it was that simple to bring someone back to life; not even the most interesting case on the entire planet, could have resurrected the deceased consulting detective. Philip was completely delusional, but she wasn't going to strip him of his strongest coping mechanism. He wasn't doing harm to anyone, after all.

"Oh and what would that be?" she asked, already regretting her decision, when his eyes lit up even more and he stepped closer.

"Have you heard of Jack the Ripper?"

"Don't be ridiculous, how can anyone _not_ have heard of Jack the Ripper?" Victoria rolled her eyes, readying herself to dismiss another crazy idea.

"Well, exactly! Up to this day, he's a mystery! So what better way to convince Sherlock to come out of his hiding, than presenting him with Jack's body?!"

A sigh escaped her lips and she bit her doughnut, buying herself time to come up with a relatively gentle way of calling Anderson 'a moron'. The man stared at her with tension visible in his entire body, clearly not seeing the amusement in her eyes.

"Philip. Jack the Ripper is a mystery, because no one has ever discovered his identity. Not mentioning the fact that he lived in the 18th hundreds. It will be kind of hard to find his body."

"I'm not talking about a _real body_ , I'm not an idiot!" the man exclaimed and took a step closer, invading her personal space dangerously. "I mean I could fabricate one! You know, find a skeleton, dress it up…"

"How is it any interesting?"

"Because of the mystery! I could write a book! ' _How I did it'_ by Jack the Ripper _!_ No doubt someone like Sherlock will come rushing to the scene, wanting to confirm the skeleton's identity!"

This had to be the stupidest idea he had come up with. How long would it take for someone as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes to _deduce_ that it had been one big sham? Probably not long.

"Um, Philip…" she started and smiled apologetically. "It's ridiculous."

"No, it isn't! It's brilliant! No one would ever know it had been me!"

"Alright, let's just assume that you're right," she sighed and tapped her fingers against the counter. "How on Earth are you planning to lure out someone who's dead? Are you going to tell Lestrade to call him?"

Anderson blinked a couple of times and deflated a bit. He stepped back and sat down.

"He solves cases all over the world, Victoria. I'm sure he would take interest in this one as well."

"Even if he is solving cases all over the world, which I doubt…" she started carefully, not wanting to be entirely mean. "…, what makes you so sure he'd want to come back to London? I mean, he left for a reason, right?"

"I… Well, his name was cleared. Why wouldn't he go back?"

"His name was cleared a while ago," Victoria sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, Philip, but even if he's alive, I doubt it will be that simple to lure him."

"It's still worth a try! Even if I fail, it's still going to be hilarious, watching Lestrade chase his own tail, yeah?"

With that, he left the kitchen and Victoria tried to stop herself from looking at his back with compassionate expression. Poor bloke… How long would it take for him to finally understand that dead people tended to stay dead? She really hoped that it would happen before he'd gone completely crazy.

* * *

"I'm telling you, that guy was _hot_. But not like pretty, or even handsome," Olivia, her best friend, said with a dreamy smile. "All it took was one look of his gorgeous, blue eyes and I _melted_."

Victoria rolled her own –not so gorgeous– eyes, trying not to make fun of the girl. She had known her far too long to actually believe a word she said. Olivia tended to meet a lot of _hot guys_ , usually while drunk. Every single one of them proved to be a complete douche, as soon as she sobered up.

"Did he have a gorgeous _penis_?" she asked with a mischievous grin and her friend smacked her arm.

"Rude!" Liv called out and snorted after a moment of silence. "Also, I wouldn't call a penis _gorgeous_. I can't say that it wasn't worth my while, though."

Victoria laughed out loud and shook her head. Sometimes, she really had no idea how did she manage to befriend such a girl, but she had discovered that spending time with Olivia Lawson proved to be the best possible distraction from her work and its gruesomeness. There weren't many things which could remind her of romance and light-heartedness more than a girl, who wanted nothing more than find someone with the ability to _rock her world_.

"How about you? Any developments in the bedroom department?" Liv asked with a knowing grin, forcing Victoria to scowl.

She was a homicide detective; hardly a girlfriend material. Getting home late, working irregular shifts and spending a lot of time around _dead people_ didn't exactly improve her image. Sure, she was _pretty_. Not spectacular or breath-taking, but definitely on the pretty side, especially when she'd decided to put an actual effort into her looks.

"Nope, Liv. Don't you know me?" she rolled her eyes and took a massive sip out of her drink.

"Oh, right. The only man you could start dating would be that DI of yours," her friend answered and, as on cue, Victoria's phone rang and the name 'Greg Lestrade' appeared on the screen. "See? Told ya."

"Sorry, I have to take this."

Victoria hopped off of her stool and walked out of the bar, trying to find a quieter spot. She picked up the phone and said:

"What's up, Greg? I'm kind of busy."

"I think I'm crazy, Victoria."

Lestrade sounded incredibly weird; he seemed agitated and spooked at the same time. His tone made her frown with worry, despite the alcohol raging in her veins.

"Um… Why would you think so?"

"Because I've just been approached by Sherlock Holmes. Anderson was right! He's alive!"

Victoria's mouth flew open; her worry turning into pure shock. Did he just say that Sherlock Holmes was alive? Maybe he really was crazy.

"Greg, have you been drinking?"

"What? No!" the DI exclaimed, clearly outraged by her question. "He was here! Said he was coming back from the dead, for good. I _hugged_ him!"

Her brows moved upwards in the response to that peculiar confession, but no words escaped her lips. It still didn't seem all that likely. Sherlock Holmes might have been a genius, but to fake his own death? Completely bonkers. Not mentioning doing so in the presence of his best, or -according to many sources- _only_ friend.

"Greg, are you sure it was him? Where exactly did you meet?"

"On the parking. In the Yard."

So it couldn't have been the fault of the darkness outside, or alcohol for that matter. Lestrade liked to drink, but he would never do so on _duty_.

"You don't believe me, do you?" His voice forced her to return to their conversation and she sighed.

"Well, it sounds a bit… crazy."

"The announcement is going to hit the media tomorrow. That's what he told me," Lestrade said and laughed a bit. "That bastard… I can't believe he really faked his own death."

"Did he tell you why he decided to come back?"

"Bored. He got bored."

Right. That actually sounded like the Sherlock Holmes she'd heard of, or read about on Watson's blog. Still, she doubted that it was his true reason. After everything that went down on St. Bart's roof, Victoria suspected it to be a matter of _national importance_. Even such a genius as Holmes couldn't have done it on his own.

"If you're really sure he's back... What now?" she asked after a moment and Lestrade sighed into his phone.

"I suspect he's going to want to get back on our cases as well. Only interesting one's I presume. That's actually why I'm calling to tell you. You haven't worked with him before and it can be… Well, bloody annoying. I just wanted to give you heads up."

"Thanks, Greg. But you know, I actually regretted not being able to observe him during work. I think I'll be just fine," she answered and smiled.

The idea of getting to know someone so brilliant made her body tingle with excitement. People described Sherlock Holmes as plain rude, but she really wanted to see it for herself. Apparently, she would get the chance to do just that.

A sudden realisation popped into her head and she chuckled.

"Have you told Anderson yet?"

"Oh, cock…" Lestrade moaned and she could hear him slapping his forehead. "He's going to be a nightmare, isn't he?"

"Already is, Greg," she chuckled and shook her head with a smile. "Already is."

* * *

Victoria stifled a yawn and tried to pry her eyes open, as the cab began to slow down in front of the destination. She certainly didn't enjoy early mornings; they were one of the biggest downsides of being a homicide detective. Unfortunately, murderers rarely worked on schedule. And if they did, it made them even scarier.

The woman paid the cabbie and smiled his way, trying not to let morning grumpiness get the best of her. She got out and took a deep breath, looking around the neighbourhood. Apparently, the crime scene had been located in one of the many old buildings. Judging by the police officers roaming around, Lestrade wasn't trying to simply prank her by feeding her false information.

Victoria entered the building and bumped into an overly excited forensic expert.

"Radcliffe! You're finally here. Lestrade's waiting for you in the basement."

"Great, thanks!" she answered, trying to recall the man's name, which seemed to elude her fuzzy brain.

She moved towards the taped door and opened in without hesitation. The basement turned out to be dusty and well… _old_. The steps creaked underneath her feet, as she slowly descended the staircase. Her body tingled pleasantly, just like every other time she was about to enter a crime scene. Even her brain seemed to get past its initial sleepiness, leaving her thoughts clear and sharp.

Victoria found Lestrade standing in front of what looked like an old skeleton, dressed in Victorian clothing. It took only a second to understand the scene spreading before her eyes and excitement slowly left her body. She almost groaned out loud, realising that she had been forcefully thrown out of her bed because of a _set up_. Anderson's set up.

"Victoria! What took you so long?" Lestrade asked, oblivious to her disappointment and annoyance. "I thought _mysteries_ turned you on."

"Mysteries? Sure," she muttered and stepped closer to the skeleton.

Radcliffe had to admit, Anderson did pretty well. To someone without the ability to _observe_ , those bones could have looked old enough to pose some kind of a mystery. For her though, identifying the real age of a man _sitting_ on that chair was child's play. Not mentioning the clothes… Sure, they looked Victorian, but the faint smell of mothballs gave away their origin. She sincerely doubted that a _corpse_ could be invested in trying to get rid of insects.

"So, what do you think?" she asked Lestrade after a moment and the DI snorted.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I could, but where would be the fun in that?"

To her surprise, Greg chuckled and shot her a wide grin. His eyes twinkled cheerfully and Victoria raised her eyebrows, unable to find the source of his sudden joy.

"You're right," he answered and patted her on the shoulder. "I've already called Sherlock, so keep your ideas to yourself. You know, just in case you're wrong."

Her mouth flew open, following Lestrade's words. Sherlock? _Sherlock Holmes?_ Anderson would probably shat himself if he had known that his little scheme would work this well. Well, he probably _had known_. She just chose not to believe him. A sudden urge to giggle appeared in her mind, when she'd realised that she owed Anderson an apology and maybe some thanks. After all, she had just been presented with a chance to meet the one and only consulting detective in the entire world.

"He's coming, huh?"

"Yep. Said he'll be here. We should probably clear the scene for now. He hates when we _obstruct evidence._ " Lestrade rolled his eyes and Victoria snorted, turning on her heel.

They left the building, awaiting Sherlock's arrival. Lestrade looked excited, shifting his weight from one leg to the other relentlessly. Victoria, on the other hand, tried not to let her emotions get the better of her. She didn't want to appear like a stupid _fan girl_ , or even worse, an incompetent chit. Her raging heart couldn't have stopped her from acting just as professional, as every other day of her job.

"Don't look so excited, Vic," Lestrade laughed and glanced at her sideways with a mischievous grin. Her boss couldn't be described as the 'smiley type', so she felt a little surprised to see him in such a good mood. Guess he really liked Sherlock more than he let on.

"Why should I be excited, Greg? I'm about to lose the spot of a _freak_. I got kind of attached to it over the year." Victoria smiled and shrugged, looking at a cab, which had just stopped in front of the building.

"Technically, he had never worked for us," Lestrade corrected her and moved towards the cab.

Victoria watched the door open, revealing a tall, lanky man with an unruly mop of dark hair. He got out of the cab and straightened his immaculate Belfast coat, which made him look even taller. His neck was covered by a navy-blue scarf, probably cashmere and extremely expensive. She rarely felt impressed by one's appearance, but Sherlock Holmes looked just as stylish and classy as his brother; yet, he couldn't be more different. His untamed hair made him appear wild and quite rebellious and his eyes didn't look even half as terrifying as Mycroft's.

Impressive. That was the word describing his demeanour perfectly. He wasn't strikingly handsome, he didn't possess a charming smile that made everyone like him. He didn't need those things. The aura surrounding his entire figure provided for a far better entertainment than anything else could.

As soon as his eyes searched the surroundings and stopped on her silhouette, she could tell he was trying to deduce everything before even learning her name. An urge to smirk appeared in her mind out of nowhere and she indulged her temporary lust, offering him one of her lopsided smiles.

"Lestrade, you requested my presence," Holmes spoke and Victoria's smile widened.

He could be dressed in rags, but with that voice… That rich and silky timbre, he could fool anyone into believing him to be an aristocrat. Suddenly, she realised that she felt really glad that he came back from the dead; if only to grace the world with his beautiful voice.

"Yes. I believe I have a crime that could interest you," her boss said and gestured towards the building. "Before we go in, I'd like you to meet Detective Victoria Radcliffe."

Holmes took off his leather glove and extended his hand towards her without hesitation. She guessed it must have been one of those habits even a sociopath had to possess. Especially a _high-functioning_ one.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes," she said and squeezed his hand firmly, without trying to linger too long. Making him uncomfortable wasn't one of her goals.

"It will be, if you turn out to be smarter than Donovan. I'd hate for Scotland Yard to suffer from even more stupidity."

With that, he brushed past her, not waiting for Lestrade's guidance. Victoria chuckled lightly after a moment and shrugged in response to her boss' apologetic smile. To her surprise, Molly Hooper exited the cab with a notepad in her hand and a blush covering her face. Victoria glanced towards the entrance to the building, but decided that Sherlock's brilliance could wait few seconds longer. She helped the registrar straighten herself and said:

"Molls. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hi! It appears I'm… Um… You know, solving cases with Sherlock."

Victoria fought the urge to grin, seeing Molly's blush. That poor girl had always had a thing for the consulting detective, according to everyone at the office. Radcliffe wasn't so sure about that, since she didn't appear all that devastated by his death, but right now, the gossip became much more probable.

"That's great! I didn't know you had any interests in solving crimes," she answered and smiled. "Speaking of which, we should probably hurry inside."

Molly nodded eagerly and rushed forward, Victoria trailing after her. When they descended the staircase, they'd found Lestrade and Sherlock already there. The latter was bent over the skeleton, clearly searching for some clues. Victoria took a spot next to her boss, which offered her the best _view_. She waited, observing Sherlock with growing excitement. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Molly taking notes frantically, probably without a clue as to what else was she supposed to do. Victoria's attention didn't linger on Miss Hooper, though.

It took only few seconds to realise why Lestrade believed Sherlock to be _brilliant._ To everyone, his behaviour probably seemed weird and completely unreasonable, but Victoria had no doubts that it made perfect sense. The consulting detective sniffed the skeleton once, just to do it again, this time more deeply. He straightened up and closed his magnifying glass, his gaze sharp and absent at the same time.

"What is it?" Molly asked quietly, staring at Holmes with a lost expression.

He completely ignored her, taking out his phone and trying to find some reception, but Ms Hooper wasn't going to resign.

"You're onto something, aren't you?"

"Mm, maybe," Sherlock replied and scowled a bit. "Shut up, John."

The latter comment, however quieter and clearly unintentional, caused Lestrade to look at him with a weird expression. Molly didn't seem to understand it, as she shifted slightly and said:

"What was that?"

"Hmm? Nothing."

Just like that, he got back to investigating the crime scene. Victoria watched him use his tweezers to lift the lapel of the skeleton's jacket and examine the clothing carefully, while her boss moved towards the man and glanced briefly at Molly.

"This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?"

"Just giving it ago." Sherlock's answer seemed completely absentminded, as his entire attention was focused on the.

"Right. So, John?"

"Not really in the picture anymore."

He straightened rapidly and moved away from the table, turning back to look at the entire scene. Victoria watched his face, trying to decipher his thoughts, but Sherlock Holmes' expression was a complete mystery. He didn't even flinch, when dust cascaded down from the ceiling, after a distant rambling noise vibrated in the air.

"Trains?" Molly asked, giving Victoria a strong urge to giggle at her obvious deduction.

"Trains," Holmes answered and crouched down, clearly calculating something in his mind, while Molly stepped closer to the body and started to examine it.

"Male, forty to fifty," she stated and then turned around, looking at her _partner_ with a slightly anxious expression. "Oh, sorry, did you want to…"

"Er, no, please. Be my guest." Victoria could tell that he wasn't entirely pleased with Molly's actions, but the words that came out of his mouth a moment later surprised even her. "Shut up!"

He sounded angry, his teeth clenched, giving away his distress. Victoria raised her brows, but didn't say a thing, even after Molly looked at Lestrade with a nervous expression. Holmes clearly didn't give a damn about the sudden tension in the room. He took out his magnifier once again and started to examine the syringe in skeleton's hand.

"Doesn't make sense," Molly said and frowned.

"What doesn't?" Lestrade asked right away, while Victoria opened her mouth to answer. She closed them after a moment, deciding that she'd give Molly a chance to shine.

"This skeleton – it's ... it can't be any more than..."

"... six months old." Sherlock clearly didn't care about letting Molly _shine,_ as he joined her in a perfect unison.

He slowly walked around the table and grabbed the edge of the table, opening a hidden compartment. Victoria almost groaned out loud, when he blew the dust from the cover, revealing its title.

"Wow!" Molly exclaimed, but Sherlock didn't look as enthusiastic.

He dropped the book onto the table, allowing Lestrade to glance at the title as well.

" _How I Did It_ by Jack the Ripper?!"

"Mmhm."

"It's impossible," Molly said quietly and Sherlock smiled.

"Welcome to my world."

Greg reciprocated his smile, while Victoria watched the consulting detective with growing interest. Wasn't he going to comment on anything? Didn't he know it was a sham?

As on cue, he finished packing his things and looked at Molly.

"I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."

"No, please – insult away!" Lestrade said with genuine awe and Victoria nodded. "There's a person in this room, who didn't get a chance to be insulted by you yet."

Sherlock glanced at her briefly and smiled.

"She won't be insulted, she already knows the answer. Don't you, Detective Radcliffe?"

"Does that mean you'll deprive me of the chance to hear your brilliant reasoning?"

He looked surprised at her words, but chose not to respond in any way, apart from indulging her request.

"The-the-the corpse is-is six months old; it's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire-damage sale a week ago," he finished and lifted his phone, showing the screen to Lestrade. "Do you agree, Detective Radcliffe?"

"Completely. Although for me, the mothballs gave it away the most. Dead people don't care about their clothes being eaten by insects," she answered and earned herself a confused look from Lestrade.

Holmes, however, offered her a tight smile, as he joined his hands behind his back, his posture immaculate and dominating. Victoria felt the urge to shift under the pressure of his scrutinizing gaze, so she looked away, smiling to cover her discomfort.

"So the whole thing was a fake," Lestrade said and Holmes confirmed, before turning away and leaving the basement.

Molly trotted after him immediately, while the DI sighed.

"Looked so promising."

"Facile!" Holme's voice called from upstairs, leaving them behind without as much as a 'goodbye'.

Victoria shook her head and met Lestrade's gaze. He clearly waited for her to say something, and she had no troubles guessing his thoughts on the matter.

"He's nowhere near as rude as I expected," she giggled and Greg snorted.

"Just give him a chance, Victoria. You're not stupid, so that means he'll probably tolerate you. It doesn't change much, though. He'll still make your life considerably harder." Lestrade patted her arm and moved towards the staircase. "Besides, he didn't deduce everything about you in public. Trust me, everything changes after that."

Oh, she believed him, alright. Even the most boring people had some skeletons hidden in their closets and Victoria Radcliffe wouldn't describe herself as entirely boring. It was obvious that Sherlock Holmes would have a lot to say about her person, but it didn't bother her though.

What _did_ bother her, was the question: could he get it right?


	3. Chapter 2

**I have no idea how I've managed to write another chapter on such a short notice, but I definitely had fun writing it. I hope you'll enjoy this one too! Thank you for reading my story and, of course, for the reviews!**

 **LuckyMuddypaw: I'm glad you liked the story! Happy birthday! 3 I wish I could be sixteen again ^^**

 **spirouFr: Thank you for reading! :)**

 **Please, let me know what you think of this chapter! And for now, enjoy! :)**

* * *

Another file, another simple case. Her hand started to hurt from all the words she'd scripted throughout the day, but nothing hurt as much, as the perspective of spending the entire evening in the office. Lestrade asked her to stay with him, claiming that something important might come up. Why was he so sure of that, she had no idea, but her guts told her that it must have been connected to Sherlock Holmes _somehow_.

Victoria watched Lestrade like a _hawk_ , trying to figure out the reason for his unusual anxiousness. He kept glancing at his phone, checking the hour and… well, doing _nothing_ productive. She was pretty sure that the files piling up on his desk weren't going to disappear on their own and she really hoped that he wouldn't stick them into her arms.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he ran out of his office and gestured for her to follow him.

"Come on! We have to go. Sherlock says there's a bomb hidden underneath the Parliament," he stated and rushed towards the elevator.

Victoria blinked once and grabbed her leather jacket immediately, excitement filling her entire body. She joined Lestrade, before he could have left without her, and grinned widely.

"Bomb? Underneath the Parliament? How the hell does he know about it?" she asked and Lestrade shrugged.

"He told me to expect his call. Of course, he didn't elaborate on anything," Greg rolled his eyes and scowled. "I've already called the bomb squad, but I really think we should get there to make sure that no one tries to punch him out cold, or worse, lock him in jail."

Victoria nodded her head and made sure her gun was hidden inside the holster. She knew that smiling after having just learnt about a _bomb_ under the building with hundreds people inside wasn't exactly appropriate, but her inner freak couldn't stop herself. Finally, something interesting was happening!

"Wait, why did you order _me_ to stay with you, instead of Donovan?" she asked, after a realisation hit her.

"It's Sherlock we're talking about. I don't think it's a good idea to get her involved."

Well, it was rather obvious. Why didn't she think of that on her own? It must have been the excitement's fault.

"Do you have any idea how exactly did the bomber manage to put the explosives underneath the Parliament?" Victoria changed the subject and Lestrade shook his head.

"All I know is that we need to get to the Westminster station as fast as possible. Sherlock said that we'll see one of the doors pried open. That's where we need to go."

"Is he already there?"

"Knowing him, yes," Lestrade muttered and she cursed.

"Please, tell me he knows how to defuse a bomb."

"He's Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. The only thing he doesn't know is that the Sun doesn't go around the Earth."

* * *

Victoria had never liked darkness very much, but walking down the tunnel in the London Tube was even scarier than the darkness itself. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about how nasty her body would have looked like after getting hit by a carriage. She knew it made little to no sense, but her mind raced out of control, coming up with more and more terrifying images.

Her gun provided some comfort, at least. The cool metal beneath her fingers felt familiar, giving her the ability to keep her nerves on a leash. Not that shooting a speeding train could have helped her in any way. Still, the firearm proved to be helpful practically in every other situation.

"I think I can hear some voices," Lestrade said quietly and sped up his pace.

Victoria followed him with ease and soon, she found herself in front of a carriage that had undoubtedly been _the one_ , judging by the bomb squad bustling inside. She looked around, only to find Sherlock Holmes and another man –a shorter one- standing not so far away from the carriage.

Lestrade trotted in their direction, holstering his gun without hesitation. Victoria sighed and did the same thing, realising that travelling through a dark tunnel would probably be the most interesting part of today's adventure.

"Holmes, Watson! You okay?" Lestrade called and Victoria realised that the man standing next to Sherlock must have been the famous doctor.

"Of course we are," Holmes answered calmly, although Watson seemed quite disturbed by the events. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Oh, I don't know. Because of a freaking bomb?!" Greg growled and shook his head. "What were you thinking, Holmes?!"

Victoria stopped next to him and grinned. She had known Greg too well not to notice that he wasn't actually furious. It would look bad if he hadn't yelled at Holmes, though. What he'd done was really reckless after all.

"It was perfectly safe. Besides, I called the police, didn't I?"

"Perfectly safe..." John muttered underneath his breath and shook his head. "We've almost _died_!"

"No, we haven't," Sherlock protested and his gaze rested on Victoria. "Why not Donovan? Does she refuse to work with me?"

"She doesn't," Lestrade answered, choosing not to elaborate. Holmes had probably known the entire story even before he'd asked.

"Pity. I was hoping not to see her face ever again."

Victoria snorted and earned herself a harsh look from Lestrade and an interested one from John Watson.

"I don't think we know each other," the doctor said and extended his hand towards her. "Doctor John Watson."

"Detective Victoria Radcliffe, pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"Just John, please," the man smiled and Holmes rolled his eyes.

"John, refrain from flirting. You're not her type."

Victoria raised her brows, wanting to ask about his deduction, but John wasn't going to give her the chance to do that.

"I'm not flirting! I'm engaged!"

"Ah, yes. I've forgotten." Sherlock's response sounded generally uncaring, which pissed John off even more.

Before the doctor could have said anything, though, Lestrade cleared his throat, forcing everyone's attention back to him. Everyone's, but Sherlock's, who kept staring at Victoria with a mysterious expression.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened," Lestrade ordered and was answered only by silence. "Holmes? Holmes!"

"I've discovered that someone was plotting to blow up the entire Parliament on the day of voting on the Terrorism Bill," the consulting detective had finally answered, but Lestrade wasn't satisfied by his explanation.

"And?"

"And I've prevented it from happening. Detective Radcliffe, why are you afraid of the darkness?"

Everyone looked at Victoria, while she tried to contain her surprise. How did he know that, huh? Oh, right. He probably deduced it from the way she was clutching her flashlight or something equally unsuspicious.

"Is my possible fear of darkness relevant to the case?" she asked and raised her eyebrows.

"Not really, no. Just curious," Sherlock answered and tilted his head a bit. "You don't look like the abused type."

"Thank you." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Let's strike a deal. I'm going to tell you why I'm scared of darkness and you're going to tell us how did you know about the bomb," she offered and Holmes smirked at her.

"No deal. Goodbye," he said and turned on his heel, moving towards the exit.

Lestrade called after him, but Holmes disappeared into the darkness, his coat hugging his silhouette perfectly. Victoria had to admit, it was one of the best dramatic exits she had ever seen, even if it made her thoughts run wild.

Why didn't he want to _know_? She'd heard all about his urge to brag, to show off his impressive skills. So why didn't he say anything? Was it because he'd already known all about her reasons, or was it because he'd rather figure it out on his own?

"He's making me want to rip my hair off," Lestrade muttered, forcing her to stop analysing Sherlock's departure.

"Can't really blame you," Victoria said and smiled. "We've just wasted our evening because of his whim, didn't we?"

"Get used to it, Radcliffe. Get used to it."

* * *

Her eyelids fell so heavy that she was praying not to fall asleep. As much as she loved interesting cases, they also tended to give her a really hard time. Victoria rarely faced a homicide with a seemingly impossible solution, but when she finally did, sleep became the last thing on her mind. She spent every minute of her spare time trying to figure out the identity of the killer, without any plausible effects. Lestrade began to get impatient; he even threatened to call Sherlock. Not that letting him solve the case would feel particularly _terrible_ , but it was still a matter of her professional pride. Victoria had to do _everything_ to solve it on her own, before she finally gave up.

Unfortunately, desperation to keep her records immaculate resulted in a _massive_ sleep deprivation. She yawned every thirty seconds, while her eyes continued to sting like someone had poured sand underneath her lids. She really needed some _good_ coffee, which Scotland Yard couldn't provide her with.

"I need a break," Victoria muttered and put on her coat. She didn't even look at Donovan's face, knowing that it would show nothing, but contempt.

She couldn't believe that Lestrade had actually liked this woman, claiming that she could be charming and quite nice. But, on the other hand, everyone felt the need to be nice to Greg. He was a fine man, but, more importantly, he was their _superior_. Maybe Sally simply wanted to slither in his good graces? No matter how hard was she trying to come up with a different reason for Donovan's bipolar behaviour, it all came down to one conclusion: she didn't really care.

Without hesitation, Victoria left the building and started her search for a good coffee shop. After several minutes of inhaling London air, she walked into a cosy little cafeteria and almost moaned out of pleasure when her nose got attacked by the heavenly scent of coffee. She ordered her drink and soon after that, she took a sip out of her cup, closing her eyes with delight.

Victoria thanked the barista and turned around, only to freeze in complete shock upon seeing Sherlock Holmes standing outside the cafeteria. What on Earth was he doing here? It couldn't have been a coincidence, right? Slowly, she walked out of the shop and immediately caught his attention.

"Detective Radcliffe," he greeted her calmly, while Victoria narrowed her eyes, searching for a reason for his unexpected appearance.

"Mr Holmes. Could you tell me what are you doing here?"

"Sherlock. Mr Holmes is my brother," he corrected and hailed a cab, gesturing her to come with him.

"Um... That doesn't answer my question." She watched with a baffled expression, as he opened the door to the cab, but her obtrusive gaze did nothing to earn her an explanation.

"Lestrade wants you to come with me," he just stated and disappeared inside the cab, clearly waiting for her to join him.

Victoria really doubted that the DI wanted her to skip her work and indulge Holmes' whims, so she bent over to voice her concerns.

"He didn't tell me about any of this."

"Yes, I've promised to convey the message. It's for a case, Detective. Hurry up, I don't have all day."

Victoria sighed and joined him in the cab, putting her hot cup between her knees and taking her phone out of the pocket. Before she could have done anything, Holmes grabbed it, opened the door and threw it on the street.

"What the hell?! That was my phone, Holmes!" she yelled, but he didn't even flinch.

The cab started to move and she figured out that Holmes must have already revealed their destination to the cabbie, while she was standing on the sidewalk, contemplating. It made her even more furious; not only did she have _no phone_ , but also no idea as to where they were headed.

"Distraction." Sherlock's reply was dry and completely emotionless. To her surprise, he took out his own phone ad began typing a text message.

"Are you serious?!"

He looked at her, clearly realising that she was upset and a frown appeared on his forehead.

"It's a distraction for _you,_ Detective. My mind works in a completely different way."

Victoria opened her mouth in pure outrage and kept staring at him. He didn't seem bothered by her gaze, which made her realise that no matter how hard she yelled at him, he still wouldn't apologise.

"You own me a new phone and a damn good explanation," she finally said and crossed her arms on her chest.

"Lestrade told me you have a problem solving your case," Sherlock said, pocketing his phone and meeting her gaze. "He thinks you might need my help."

That bastard… He _promised_ to give her more time! Why would he go back on his own word?!

"Of course, he claimed that you're doing just fine, but his body language said otherwise."

Right. Apparently, her boss didn't break his promise. He didn't _have to_. All it took was a bit of hesitation on his part for Holmes to come to his own conclusions. Victoria wanted to grind her teeth, realising that Lestrade probably didn't even know that the consulting detective decided to _help her_ anyway.

"He doesn't know about me being here, does he? You just said it to get me to go with you."

"Yes. Brilliant deduction, Detective." She couldn't have missed the irony in his voice, even if she tried to and it made her seething with anger.

"I am supposed to be at work, Holmes. They can fire me because of your stupid… Wait. What exactly am I doing here?" she asked, making Sherlock smile.

"I told you, it's for the case."

"I don't need your help!" she protested, but Holmes looked at her with amusement.

"Yes, you do. You haven't been sleeping for two days, judging by the dark circles underneath your eyes and by the amount of caffeine you've ingested in the past few hours. Your desk looks _atrocious_ , by the way," he said and scrunched up his nose.

Victoria had to grab the seat with force to stop herself from punching him. It took only a couple of minutes to fully understand the common dislike for the consulting detective that everyone in the Yard seemed to nurture. He was _bloody annoying_.

"Well, if you want to help me so much, you should probably know that the crime scene is in the completely opposite direction," she stated and averted her gaze, unable to look at him any longer.

"I said it's for a case. I didn't say it's for _yours_."

Victoria closed her eyes, realising that Holmes probably tried to annoy her as much as possible _on purpose_. He tricked her into coming with him, then he threw her phone away and he did those things so she could help him in _his case_.

"I hope you know that I'm on the verge of killing you."

Holmes snorted and looked out the window with a tiniest smile.

"No, you're not. During our entire ride you haven't touched your coffee once, because you immediately stopped needing it."

"You should be glad I haven't drank it. I have a feeling I might have spat it all over your face otherwise," she muttered and closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that she still felt sleepy.

The truth was, she didn't. The coffee, resting between her legs, couldn't make her more awake than she already was. Bloody Holmes and his brilliant mind…

"Are you going to tell me where are we headed?"

"Crime scene. Stop talking, I'm trying to think."

He was probably right. Victoria really needed to shut her mouth, if she didn't want to show him how dirty she could talk.

* * *

The apartment was rather small, but it surely felt incredibly cosy. It took only a couple of seconds to figure out that it must have belonged to a woman –a _girly one_ at that. Victoria didn't really care much for all the flowers and other plants decorating the flat, just as she didn't care for the candles, or cute photo frames, laying on top of practically every shelve.

Everything seemed perfectly fine at first glance, but Victoria knew better than to _assume things_. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have brought her to this place, if he wanted an opinion of a simple police officer.

"What happened here?" she asked quietly, letting her eyes search the room slowly, taking in every single detail.

"Don't you know?"

Holmes stood behind her, with his hands clasped behind his back. He had no intentions of going deeper into the room, his eyes focused on the window. Victoria decided that, for some unknown reasons, he wanted her to interpret the situation before he could enlighten her with his own brilliance. She felt her heart speed up its pace. Sherlock Holmes was trying to _test her_ and she really didn't know if she liked this idea.

Victoria turned her back on him and let her mind focus entirely on the scene in front of her. It really didn't seem like a very _serious_ crime had happened here, but it wasn't hard to tell that no one had been inside the flat for quite some time. The flowers had already started to wither and a thin layer of dust had settled onto each surface in the room. She took a step closer and examined a mug, standing on the coffee table. Whatever had been inside, its remnants were still visible on the bottom, completely dried down. None of the windows had been opened recently; the musky scent hanging in the air testified to that.

There were no signs of break-in, but Victoria was sure that something bad must have happened inside the flat. There was a distinctive discolouration to the wooden floor, which meant that the rug must have been moved recently. It seemed weird; the apartment was very clean, or at least, it used to be clean when its owner was present. There was no way that the woman would leave the rug like this, with the discolouration so visible to everyone's eyes. The coffee table wasn't properly aligned either; it got moved along with the rug and no one fixed it ever since. A couple of the pictures on the nearby chest of drawers were flipped over and some of the smaller figurines dropped to the floor in chaos.

"There are signs of struggle," Victoria finally muttered and Holmes snorted.

"It took you so long to figure out something _this obvious_?"

"No break-in, though, so she must have known her assaulter. The signs of struggle are _obvious_ , but he clearly wasn't trying to hurt the woman. There's no blood and nothing points to the presence of excessive violence."

"He?" Holmes asked absentmindedly and she knew that he did it, because he wanted to make sure that she _understood_ what had really happened.

"He. This rug is quite big and heavy. With the coffee table standing on top of it, moving it wouldn't be so easy. She wouldn't be able to do so on her own, which points to someone strong. Besides, if she was assaulted by another woman, there would be a lot more damage," she said and faced Sherlock, who stopped staring at the window and was now watching her with caution.

"What happened here?"

"I think she was kidnapped. Killers rarely take their victims with them, and if they do, it's just to dump the body elsewhere. She must be gone for at least a week now and it is wise to assume that if he had dumped the body somewhere, it would already be found."

"What if he had dropped the body into the Thames?" Sherlock asked with his eyebrows raised.

"Then there's nothing we can do," she shrugged and looked around once more. "I don't think that he did, though. It's not so easy to simply drop a body into the river."

"Especially if you plan to do it in the morning," Holmes added and Vitoria looked at him with surprise. He rolled his eyes and said: "The paper on the table, underneath the mug that you've already examined. It's dated from eight days ago, and judging by the stash of other papers underneath the TV, the owner liked to read the news every single morning, while drinking coffee. If the paper is still on the table, it means that she didn't quite finish reading it, ergo, the kidnapper must have taken her in the morning."

Victoria opened her mouth and gazed at the newspaper, confirming Sherlock's theory. Of course, he must have been to the apartment before, but it was still incredibly impressive.

"Also, she hasn't shown up at work," he added and smirked.

"So she really is missing?"

"Of course she's missing. No one would be able to drag her body out of the building without raising suspicions."

"He could have waited for the nightfall, theoretically speaking."

"Yes, if he is a complete _moron_ ," Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

Victoria chuckled and tilted her head, watching Holmes with curiosity. She was able to figure out at least part of this _riddle_ , but why did he even bring her here, if he had already known everything?

"Why am I here?" she asked, deciding to simply cut to the chase.

"The police is doing nothing to find this girl. They chose to ignore the obvious signs pointing to her abduction," Sherlock stated and frowned. "A woman came to my house, claiming that her sister went missing and no one believes that it wasn't her own doing."

"Why not? I mean, it's pretty obvious."

"Because of the message. Her sister left her a voice mail, where she explained that she needed some space and that she was leaving town."

"But her things are all here," Victoria said and gestured to the only jacket hanging on the rack. She was sure that if she decided to venture into the abducted woman's bathroom, nothing would be missing.

"Yes. Apparently, it doesn't mean a thing. Like I've mentioned, Police is doing nothing to find her."

Victoria clenched her fists and sighed with annoyance. Suddenly, the reason for her presence at this apartment became crystal clear.

"Why didn't you simply call Lestrade? He's got bigger influence," she mocked and Sherlock offered her an annoyed look.

"I don't need the police to get involved," he scoffed. "I just need the access to your database."

Victoria raised her eyebrows and chuckled. According to Lestrade, he had no troubles _hacking_ into his account. Why couldn't he do that now?

"Really?"

"No. I just need an assistant and you just proved to be worthy of the spot."

She blinked a couple of times and then started to laugh.

"Please, you're smarter than everyone I know. You don't need an assistant."

"It's easier to think when I talk out loud and it _looks_ better when I talk to _someone_."

"Then find someone. Preferably a person, who doesn't have an actual job." Victoria rolled her eyes and sighed. Sure, the experience was really interesting, but she really needed to get back to the Yard.

"It can't be just _anyone_ ," he exclaimed angrily. "Most people don't understand my work. I can't waste my precious time, trying to fight them!"

"Like you're fighting me right now?" she asked with amusement. "Because I really can't follow you everywhere you go. I have stuff to do."

"And yet you're here."

Victoria stopped smiling and shot him an angry glare. Of course she was here! He _kidnapped her_ , oh irony!

"You tricked me!"

"Yes, you could say that. But that trick wouldn't have worked if you haven't already wanted to come." He smiled smugly and took a step closer. "You decided to trust my words, instead of thinking them through, because you _wanted_ to be here. You wanted to come with me."

Victoria bit her lip and tried to come up with a counter-argument, but her mind decided to go completely _blank_. Finally, she sighed and scowled lightly.

"Fine, I wanted to come. So what?"

"It's obvious that you _want_ to help me. It excites you."

"You know what else excites me?" she asked and before she could have continued, he smirked and said:

"Of course I know. It's hardly a mystery."

"Well, then. I really hope that having a _job_ made it to your list. Greg is not going to approve of me spending my days with _you_ while I should be solving those dull cases you hate so much."

"You hate them too. Which is why you can't solve the _simplest case ever_ ," he mocked, forcing her to frown. "You were so desperate to get an interesting homicide that you've created one for yourself."

Victoria opened her mouth, trying to find a clever retort, but how could she respond, when she had no idea what he was even talking about?

"It was a suicide, Detective!" Holmes said with exasperation and looked up to the ceiling.

She blinked a couple of times and then slapped her forehead, realising that Sherlock had been right. She was so desperate to do _anything_ interesting that she'd forgotten that not every death had to be the result of a _murder_. Fuck, she was such an idiot…

"My name's Victoria," she muttered and forced herself to meet his gaze. "And I'm not going to dance to your tune. I'm your assistant, not a slave."

With that, she brushed past him and exited the apartment, feeling both ridiculous and exhilarated.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I had so much fun writing this chapter! This story proves to be nothing, but a huge entertainment for now :) I hope you share my view ^^ Thank you for reading! Please, if you like it, leave a comment. It makes me so happy to interact with my readers! :)**

 **AvaFyre: I am so happy that you like my OC! I always spend so much time trying to make my characters come alive, that your words really mean a lot! Thank you for reading and I hope you'll keep enjoying this story! :)**

 **And now... ENJOY THE CHAPTER! :)**

* * *

It was her bloody _day off_. She was supposed to sleep for ten hours straight, drooling on her pillow and dreaming of some hot guys. Unfortunately, her _sweet dreams_ had turned into nightmares very quickly. All it took was the constant buzzing of her new phone. She didn't even have to look at the screen to know who was trying to get her attention so badly.

There was no way in _hell_ she'd resign from sleeping in, even if Holmes had already sent her ten messages. His body seemed to function without much sleep, but it didn't mean he could expect hers to do the same. Well, at least _he shouldn't_ expect that. Another buzz of her phone proved her wrong.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered and covered her head with the pillow, desperately trying to get back to her dream.

To her surprise, her room fell silent for the next couple of minutes, giving her hope that maybe Holmes had finally realised that she wasn't going to answer. Unfortunately, before she could have drifted off to sleep again, her phone started buzzing constantly, letting her know that someone decided to call her. It couldn't have been Holmes, since he never did that. Victoria growled angrily and picked up her phone, not opening her eyes to check the identity of the caller.

"Radcliffe," she stated quietly and heard someone sigh in relief.

"Thank God!" Lestrade said and she immediately opened her eyes.

"Um… Where you expecting someone else?" The irony in her voice was clear as the first rays of sun, pooling into her room. Why did he have to call her so bloody early?!

"I wasn't expecting you to answer my call!"

"Then why the fuck are you calling?!"

"Holmes sent me a text that you could be in danger!" Lestrade said and Victoria closed her eyes. "He said you're not answering your phone."

"Of course I'm not, Lestrade! It's my freaking day off! I was trying to sleep!"

Silence answered her angry statement, as Greg must have realised that Sherlock tricked him into calling Victoria. Finally, he cursed nastily and said:

"So, you're not in danger?"

"Not really, no. Unless you think I can strangle myself with my pillow."

"Sorry, Victoria. That bloody bastard… He always does that and I still believe him, whenever he says something about danger."

"You can never know with him," she answered, her anger dissipating. Sherlock's brilliance was undeniable, but it also allowed him to exploit other people's weaknesses _perfectly_. Of course Lestrade was going to check on her. Victoria would have done the same thing is she were in his place.

"I know it's your day off, but please, just answer his texts. He's not going to give up, either way."

"Fine," she moaned and turned around to lie on her back. "I'll see what he wants."

"Thanks. Sorry to disturb you."

A moment later, he hung up and she was left with the phone in her hand, preparing herself to face Sherlock's texts. She looked at the screen and noticed the notifications for ten unread messages.

"Bloody hell…"

 _Need you on Baker Street. –SH_

 _As soon as possible. – SH_

 _By as soon as possible, I mean now. –SH_

 _Just skip shower, it's important. –SH_

 _Whatever you're doing, stop. –SH_

 _It's your day off, you can't possibly be busy. –SH_

 _Are you ignoring my texts? –SH_

 _Does Lestrade know you're this useless? –SH_

 _I NEED HELP. –SH_

 _Fine. I'll just text Lestrade. –SH_

What the fuck was wrong with him? Victoria really found it hard to believe that his _sociopathy_ made him incapable of getting a hang of the way people's lives worked. He had to be aware that sending someone multiple texts on an early morning wasn't exactly _acceptable._

 _You don't want me to come to the Baker Street right now, trust me._

She replied and dropped her phone next to her. There was no way she could get some more sleep now, her agitation made sure of that. Her initial excitement over working with Holmes disappeared, buried underneath _tons_ of annoyance. He resembled a child –a brilliant one, but a child nonetheless. Victoria had never particularly liked taking care of kids, so having to constantly listen to his demands made her furious sometimes.

Still, working with him, despite his quirks, was _fascinating_. She found herself enamoured with the way he behaved at the crimes scenes. The way his eyes scanned the surroundings, the way his body tensed when he noticed a seemingly uninteresting detail… All of it made Victoria's insides twitch with excitement. There was no denying the fact that Sherlock Holmes was a huge show off, which was kind of weird, considering his sociopathic tendencies. A man with no emotions, with no heart shouldn't care about people appreciating his work; he did though. He even said it himself.

 _Why would I tell you to come, if I didn't want you to? Are you on your way? –SH_

 _Nope. Too furious to come. And what's with this 'SH'? I know it's_ you _._

 _Come anyway. –SH_

Victoria clenched her teeth and dragged her ass out of the bed. She shivered when the chilled air hit her body and regretted her decision to indulge Sherlock almost instantly. Why did she even make such a choice? Oh, right. She probably _wanted_ to come.

A hot shower helped her to get rid of remaining sleepiness and coldness, but it did nothing to lessen her annoyance. She exited the bathroom and picked up her phone to check for the hour, only to see that Holmes hadn't stopped bothering her with texts.

 _Do you have a problem with body odour? I told you to skip shower. –SH_

 _People could be dying because of your tardiness. –SH_

She gritted her teeth and replied:

 _YOU'RE GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON'T STOP WITH THOSE STUPID TEXTS, HOLMES! I'M COMING!_

* * *

Victoria arrived at 221B Baker Street and stormed out of the cab, standing in front of the dark, wooden doors with a knocker tilted slightly to one of the sides. It was a good thing that she didn't suffer from OCD's, because it would have bugged the hell out of her. She didn't really know if she was supposed to simply go in, without knocking, or if she should wait for Sherlock to open the door for her.

Finally, she knocked and took a step back, awaiting someone's arrival. Finally, the door opened and Victoria found herself standing face to face with the famous landlady, Mrs Hudson. The woman smiled with sympathy and said:

"How can I help you, my dear?"

Her voice was sweet and cheerful, making Victoria feel slightly calmer about this entire situation. She couldn't exactly yell at the old lady, could she?

"Uh, hello! I'm Victoria," she said and smiled gently. "Sherlock told me to come here."

Sudden excitement appeared on the woman's face and she bent over slightly, getting closer to Victoria.

"Are you his _girlfriend_?"

It took all of her willpower not to snort right in the woman's face, but the thought of being Sherlock's _anything_ made her incredibly amused. Sure, when it came to his work, she found him completely irresistible. But hell would have to freeze over, before she could allow herself to fall for someone unable to understand how annoying he could be.

"Not really. I'm a detective and I'm… Well, helping him, for the lack of a better word."

"Oh. That's alright, dear! Please, come in!" Mrs Hudson moved out of the way and smiled sadly. "I'm worried about Sherlock. Now that John left, he's terribly lonely. They were… Close, you know."

"John left?"

"He's getting married! He can't be here all the time anymore. Poor Sherlock… But he handled it well, I suppose."

Victoria nodded and decided that it wasn't really her place to ask about John's and Sherlock's relations. She had known all too well that Holmes would have never asked her to become his _assistant,_ if it wasn't for the change in the arrangement between him and Dr Watson. Still, it wasn't really her business, so she kept quiet and allowed Mrs Hudson to lead her upstairs.

"Do you fancy a cup of tea?" the landlady asked, putting her hand on Victoria's forearm.

"Oh, I don't really want to bother you, Mrs Hudson."

"Nonsense, dear! I'll bring it to Sherlock's place!" She smiled brightly and gestured towards the apartment in front of them. Victoria thanked her and pressed the handle, entering the room.

She expected Holmes' flat to be eccentric, but the view inside surpassed her expectations. One of the walls had been shot at, there were books and papers lying everywhere, just as other various objects that Victoria had found difficult to describe; they didn't make much sense to her.

To her surprise, Holmes was lying on the couch, still in his dressing gown. His eyes were wide opened, but he didn't seem to notice her presence at first. He was probably lost in his own chaotic thoughts, but Victoria found it hard to believe that they concerned something of _national importance_.

She moved closer to the couch and hovered over Sherlock with an angry expression. Her earlier annoyance had returned with a great force upon seeing him, and she wasn't going to simply pretend not to be mad.

"Start explaining. Now," she ordered, crossing her arms over the chest and gaining his attention.

"I can't find my bow."

What. On. Earth.

"Excuse me?" she stuttered, hoping that her hearing had simply malfunctioned.

"I said: I can't find my bow."

He had got to be kidding! Did he seriously drag her out of bed, because he couldn't find his freaking bow?!

"Holmes, is this a joke?"

"Of course it isn't!" He yelled and sat down rapidly, ruffling his hair. "Violin helps me think and I can't play violin without my _bow!_ "

Victoria inhaled slowly, trying to remind herself that committing a murder on her day-off was _not_ an option. Unfortunately, the same went for beating the crap out of Sherlock, preferably with his missing bow.

"It's 7 o'clock, Holmes! I was sleeping and you dragged me out of my bed, so I could help you find your bow?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" she yelled so loud, that Mrs Hudson stormed into the room, clearly alarmed.

"Sherlock! What have you done?!" the woman squealed, looking at the consulting detective with hurt in her eyes.

"Me?! I've done nothing! She's the one yelling, instead of making herself USEFUL!"

"You woke me up, so I would find your stupid bow! I'm not a slave, or your maid!"

"And I'm not your housekeeper!" Mrs Hudson added and shook her head with disappointment. "Oh dear, we could all use a cuppa…"

The older woman rushed out of the room, leaving Victoria with Sherlock, who looked positively crazy. His eyes searched the room rapidly, while his foot tapped the floor.

"Why do you even need to play violin so badly?" she finally asked, trying to calm herself down. "Do you have a case?"

"John asked me to be his best man."

His announcement caught her off guard. Victoria blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out a connection between being asked to be someone's best man and the need to play violin.

"So?" she said, when her mind came up blank.

"Why would he do that?! I detest weddings!"

Victoria covered her eyes with her palm, realising that her presence in his flat was caused by something so trivial.

"You're his friend, Sherlock. I have no bloody idea _why_ , but apparently, he wants to share his special day with _you_. That's what people do, when they care for each other."

"Why? This is utterly stupid!"

Oh God… He really didn't understand, did he? Victoria sighed and sat down next to him, noticing that he stiffened considerably, but didn't move away.

"Look… I'm convinced that he didn't ask you, because he wanted to make you _miserable_. I'm pretty sure that John's going to be the one who's miserable." She rolled her eyes and faced Sherlock. "But you've been through a lot together. You can pretend all you want, but you care for him as well. Even if you don't understand weddings, you should still agree, for John's sake."

"I've already agreed. I just don't know why would he want _me_ to be his best man."

"I've told you why: because he cares about you and he appreciates your friendship. You don't have to _understand_ it. Feelings aren't supposed to be logical."

He scrunched up his nose in an expression of utter disgust, making Victoria want to giggle. He really was a big child when it came to such basic things, wasn't he?

"Instead of thinking about John's reasons, you should probably focus on organising the wedding," she added and Sherlock turned his head towards her.

It was probably the first time when she could gaze into his eyes from such a close distance. His irises were weirdly mesmerising. They looked like a mixture of several colours. She could see cerulean blue, but there was also green and gold, creating the most unique combination.

"You're right," he said after a moment of silence and grinned. "John trusted me with this, so I shall give him the perfect wedding!"

He stood up and dropped his dressing robe to the floor, revealing a purple, perfectly fitted shirt.

"Time to get to work!" he clapped his hands excitedly and then turned to look at her. "And you… Find that bow! You're probably more accustomed to cleaning anyway."

"Oi! What was that supposed to mean?!"

* * *

"What do we have?" Victoria asked and took a sip out of her coffee cup. Lestrade was very cryptic over the phone, so she didn't really know what to expect at the crime scene.

Her guess was that he tried to maintain a sense of _mystery_ , to make everything more interesting for her sake, but Victoria had worked with him for too long not to see through his shenanigans.

"Um… A murder," he answered and smiled, making her chuckle.

"Fine. Lead the way."

She followed Lestrade into the narrow alleyway and stopped in front of a lifeless body. Anderson stood right next to it, examining the victim's wound carefully.

"Philip," she greeted him with a smile. "What can you tell us?"

"The victim is male, probably in his mid-twenties. He suffered from one single wound to his abdomen."

"Gunshot?" Lestrade asked with a frown, but Victoria already knew that it wasn't a correct answer.

"No, he was stabbed. Probably not with a knife, though. The incision is too narrow and it looks like it was made with something thick. My guess would be a pair of scissors."

Victoria emptied her cup completely and crashed it between her hands. She threw it into the nearest trash bin and crouched down next to the body, putting on her gloves. The wound looked exactly like Anderson said it would. There was a lot of blood, but it was to be expected, considering its placement. The victim had probably died of the blood loss and internal injuries. Still, it didn't look like an intentional murder.

She was about to voice her opinion, when her phone buzzed, signalising a text message. Lestrade smiled knowingly and Victoria rolled her eyes, taking out the cell and gazing at its screen.

 _Ivory or pearl white? –SH_

Was she supposed to know what he meant? She guessed that it had something to do with the wedding, but that was where her knowledge ended. Victoria left the message unanswered, focusing on the body once again.

"It doesn't look like a hit," she said and Lestrade nodded absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on her phone.

"You know that you have to answer him."

"No, I don't. He's a big boy, he can handle himself," she answered and felt her phone buzz yet again.

 _You're right. Those colours are exactly the same. –SH_

Victoria smiled and looked up, only to find Anderson staring at her with a grin.

"Is it _him_? Is it Sherlock?" the forensic expert asked, his excitement completely inappropriate for such a place.

"Of course it's him. He has absolutely no tact," she laughed and stood up. "Do we know who the victim is? Does he have an ID?"

"Not really. Although judging by the states of his pockets, he was probably searched before we got here. Does Sherlock talk about me?" Anderson's reply was hopeful and Victoria really wanted to pat this poor man on the back and tell him to get over this weird _crush_. It certainly wasn't healthy.

"No. Can we please stop focusing on Sherlock?"

Her phone buzzed again and Victoria scowled. Of course, Sherlock Holmes couldn't stand not being in the centre of attention.

 _Mary likes lilac. It's hideous. –SH_

Victoria sighed and decided to answer his text for one.

 _I'm busy, Sherlock. A lot of murders happening in London lately._

 _Boring. -SH_

 _Lilac is going to ruin my wedding. –SH_

 _It's not_ your _wedding, Sherlock. It's John's and Mary's. Leave me alone._

Victoria shoved her phone into the pocket of her jeans and sighed. Over the past couple of weeks, she had grown even more appreciative of John Watson. She suspected that he must have been a _saint_ to endure Holmes' constant need for attention. She certainly wasn't a saint and had no intentions of indulging him every single time.

"So, what do you think has happened here?" Greg asked and Victoria frowned, shutting off her surroundings and focusing solely on the elements of the crime scene.

The victim must have fallen backwards, so he was probably facing the entrance to the alleyway, when he was attacked. People didn't usually go into such places, unless they were chased by someone. This crime must have begun in a completely different spot. The question was: where?

The scissors definitely fitted the wound's shape, but they definitely didn't fit into the story told by the entire crime scene. If the victim was chased, it clearly pointed to a robbery gone-wrong, but no mugger would run around with a pair of scissors as their main weapon. Scaring the victim was usually the best way to convince them to give away all of their precious possessions. How did anyone expect to evoke such fear with _scissors?_ Was that why the male had been killed? Because he had dared to laugh straight into the mugger's face? If that was the case, why did he even run?

"Something doesn't add up here," she finally stated and took a couple of steps back, trying to get a bigger picture. "For how long has he been dead?"

"Probably about eight to ten hours," Anderson answered and Victoria's frown deepened.

"So it must have happened right between the sunrise. It doesn't really scream a robbery gone-wrong, right? The victim must have ran from the killer, I don't see another reason for him to be in this place. He's also facing the exit, so he probably figured out that he had nowhere else to go; he turned around and tried to defend himself."

"I don't know, it sounds like a typical robbery to me," Lestrade muttered and scratched his head, but Victoria sent him an amused glance.

"A robbery committed under the threat of being _cut to death_?"

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"If you want to rob someone, you can always choose a better weapon. A knife would be better. Scissors usually don't have such a pointed end, especially if they're so thick."

"Maybe the killer's homeless? Maybe he didn't have anything else?"

"Or maybe, the victim saw something he wasn't supposed to… Maybe the robbery happened later on, when the poor lad had already been dead."

Both Lestrade and Anderson fell silent for a moment, thinking about her words, but they didn't seem convinced. Victoria shook her head and said:

"Well, it's a theory. We're going to need more info, if we want to figure out what happened."

Her phone buzzed again and she reluctantly took it out of her pocket.

 _How's the murder going? –SH_

 _I'm afraid it ended eight hours ago. You're late. Also, why would a killer stab someone with a pair of scissors, after chasing them for a while?_

There was no answer to her question, but Victoria decided that even someone as brilliant couldn't deduce everything about the crime from such a vague description. She was about to block the screen and shove the phone into her pocket, when the response came.

 _BS now. –SH_

 _"_ Does he want to help?" Lestrade asked, watching her intently and Victoria shrugged.

"It's hard to tell. He may as well need me to find his _bow_ ," she said and sighed tiredly. "I think I'll go to see if he's willing to help. The scissors seem to have gotten his attention, so maybe we'll get lucky."

"Thank God for the scissors then!" Lestrade rolled his eyes, leaving Victoria no other choice, but to laugh.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hello there! Another chapter is here and I'm really happy with the way it turned out. I hope you'll enjoy it! As always, thank you for reading my story, for all the follows, favs and reviews! :) You're awesome!**

 **Also, I need to tell you that another chapter is probably not going to be here for a while, because I'm going on vacation. But I promise to make it up to you, once I'm back! :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Victoria arrived at St. Bart's with a coffee cup in her left hand and a book in her right. She wasn't stupid enough to think that Sherlock's _polite request to join him_ , hidden underneath a _surprisingly_ dry and uncaring text message, had actually meant that he needed her help. Just like on her other days off, he simply wanted her to sit with him and bounce of his ideas. It mostly meant that she had to breath quietly and pretend that she wasn't even there, until he addressed her.

She walked into the hospital and rushed towards the elevators. Surprisingly, her mood was quite okay for such an early hour. For Sherlock, seven o'clock in the morning meant that he had already wasted several hours he could have spent on something _productive_. Victoria couldn't understand what could have been more productive than providing his body with so much needed rest, but she resigned from trying to understand Sherlock's reluctance to sleep. Or eat. Or act even remotely human. Besides, there were more interesting things about him.

The detective walked into the elevator and turned around, facing the door. She took a sip out of her cup and almost spilled it all over herself, when someone barged into the elevator right before the door closed.

"Sorry," the man breathed out and smiled apologetically, while Victoria looked him over.

He was clearly a doctor, pretty young at that. Vicky couldn't stop herself from thinking that she wouldn't mind being treated by him. His smile was pretty stunning; it lit up his entire face, revealing a pair of cute dimples gracing his cheeks. It was hard to determine the colour of his eyes in the elevator's artificial lighting; they could've been blue, or maybe very pale green. Pretty, nonetheless.

"It's alright. I would've stopped the door, but I didn't notice you," she answered and shrugged, leaning against the elevator wall.

The young doctor pushed one of the buttons and glanced at her briefly.

"You're going down to the basement?"

"Yep."

"Morgue?"

"Yep."

"Oh…" he said and scratched his head. "I'm sorry for your loss, then."

She snorted in amusement. It wasn't weird that he had come to such conclusion, but his words sounded at least funny, considering her situation.

"The only thing I've lost is sleep," she answered, seeing his baffled expression. "I'm a detective, I'm here to work. Kind of."

She revealed her badge casually and smiled, when his face relaxed instantly.

"Well, you certainly don't look devastated, so I'll take your word for it," he chuckled and extended his hand towards her. "I'm Doctor Duncan Ellis."

"Detective Victoria Radcliffe." She squeezed his hand firmly, giving it a little shake. It was surprising how her work influenced even such simple gestures as exchanging handshakes.

"So… What brings you to the morgue this time?"

Victoria was really tempted to say 'my friend', but decided against it. Sherlock was hardly her friend and she knew that torturing the young, cute doctor wasn't her best idea. She simply shrugged and took a sip of her coffee.

"Just the usual. You know, killer on the run and stuff like that."

"So you work homicide?"

Okay, so he might have been cute, but he was also extremely dumb for a doctor. Why else would she be in need of seeing a _dead body_?

"Wait, that was a stupid question," he said, as if he was listening in on her musings. "You just don't look like a cold-hearted detective."

"Yeah, the smile can be kind of off-putting," she laughed and rolled her eyes.

The elevator dinged, letting her know that it was time to leave the doctor. Part of her wanted to stay with the man and enjoy the conversation a bit longer, but Sherlock had already been waiting for an hour, before she got to the hospital. He wasn't likely to notice her presence in the lab, but he'd sure as hell notice the lack of it.

"Thanks for the chat. It was probably the nicest part of my day," she said and offered him a slightly flirtatious smile.

"Yeah," he said and let her leave the elevator, only to run out of it a second later and stop her. "Wait. I don't usually do this, but…" He took out his card and a pen, starting to scribble something on the back of the paper. "Here's my private number. Maybe you'd… Well, like to chat sometime."

She smiled and grabbed the card. Yep, he was definitely cute and definitely oblivious to the fact that dating a detective would be _hell._ Between his long shifts and her own irregular schedule, they would have literally no time to see each other. Still, she wasn't going to extinguish his ardour, so she pocketed that small piece of paper and winked at him, before walking away.

Despite the realisation that nothing could work between them, she felt rather invigorated by their meeting. She was a woman, after all, and she always appreciated every sign of interest from the males. It spoke to her vanity. Her mood suddenly became much better and even the perspective of spending her day with Sherlock didn't seem so bad.

She walked into the lab and saw Sherlock at his usual spot. He was bent over one of the microscopes, clearly immersed in his own thoughts. He was wearing one of his tailored suits and a blue shirt. There was nothing surprising about that sight; what surprised her was seeing Molly Hooper sitting nearby with a look of full-blown guilt painted all over her face.

"Hello, _cheery_ people," Victoria said and made the registrar jump up, clearly startled by the detective's quiet entrance.

"You're late. And now shut up, I need to think," Holmes answered, barely acknowledging her existence.

"Ah, Sherlock. Charming as ever," she mocked and looked at Molly, who was flicking her gaze between Vicky and Holmes. "And here I was, thinking that your brother was the rude one…"

That gained Sherlock's attention immediately, as he raised his head and glanced towards Victoria with an unreadable expression.

"You know my brother," he stated and watched as she hung her coat right next to his. If he minded, he decided to keep this to himself. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Money?" Victoria asked and snorted softly. "Yeah, I wish. Maybe then I would be able to afford hailing a cab every time you call me." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "No, Sherlock. I'm a detective with an unusual luck to stumble upon all kinds of cases, including those of _national importance_."

"In other words, Mycroft has already called you an idiot on more than one occasion, without actually saying the word." Sherlock smirked and got back to examining… whatever he was examining.

"You can say that. It never bothered me, though. He's a pompous buffoon, so…"

"Ignorant one at that. You're hardly an idiot. You're almost bearable."

Victoria had to fight the urge to mock his statement, because she knew that coming from him, it was one of the biggest compliments anyone could get. Instead of getting into a discussion with Sherlock, she glanced at Molly again and smiled warmly.

"Molls, how are things going?"

She didn't fail to notice the way that Sherlock's body tensed upon hearing her voice once again, but she decided to ignore it for now. He called her here, so he would have to deal with the consequences of his choice.

"Oh, you know, just the usual," the woman smiled, her gaze flicking to Sherlock and telling Victoria that the statement had a much deeper meaning than she wanted it to have.

"How's Tom?"

Sherlock snorted and Victoria glanced at him briefly. She couldn't exactly tell if he had been annoyed by their talking, or if it had something to do with his inner musings, so she decided to ignore him and focus on the registrar.

"Good. He's so sweet! Lately he's been trying to come back home earlier, so he could make me dinners," Molly said and Victoria decided that talking about her fiancé was probably a bad idea. She was a detective, for God's sake, and a bloody good one at that. Whatever that guy's been making for dinner, it certainly didn't make Molly any happier.

"That sounds really nice," she answered and decided to change the subject. "Speaking of cute guys… Do you know Doctor Duncan Ellis?"

Molly's eyes lit up a bit and Victoria fought the urge to clench her fists in victory. Apparently, the doctor was by far a more exciting subject than her fiancé.

"I haven't talked to him for a while, but he's a really nice guy. The nurses fawn over him all the time," the woman chuckled. "Do _you_ know him?"

"Of course she doesn't," Sherlock interrupted and raised his head, looking at Victoria. "Why do you think she's asking?"

"I'm asking, because I've just met him in the elevator."

"Must have been quite an impressing meeting, if he gave you his number after just minutes of conversation," Holmes mocked and stood up. "It clearly means that he's desperate and probably suffering from depression. Doctors don't usually have such a low self-esteem to offer their private number to a newly met woman, especially if they know that she's a detective and would hardly be able to withstand their demanding work schedule, having one herself."

"Or he could have just liked me, for all I know." Victoria rolled her eyes and dismissed Holmes' words completely. "Some people do that."

"Mm… Not likely," Holmes answered. "You already know that calling him is a terrible idea, so I don't really see the point of asking Molly about him. Unless you just wanted to change the subject, because you noticed how unhappy she is about her own relationship. Either way, it's just a waste of my time!"

Victoria realised that her pleasant mood disappeared altogether, as she watched Sherlock pace the lab, oblivious to the sudden tension filling the air. She didn't really feel bad for herself, but Molly? Molly looked at Holmes with a shocked expression that made her look like a broken doll. Bloody sociopath…

"Oi!" she yelled and frowned. "If you have to mention _wasting someone's time_ , I shall remind you that you've dragged me out of bed, _again_ , because you simply felt like it. I have my own life! And if you're going to say that I wanted to come here, I'm going to kick you in the nuts! I came here, because you're even more annoying when I'm _not here_ , than when I am!"

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at her with a blank expression.

"What life?" he finally asked and Victoria realised that _the moment_ had finally come. "You're usually at work and when you're not, you're trying to solve cases in your own _free time_. Your phone isn't password protected, which means that you don't have anything to hide; no humiliating pictures, no personal data. You rarely receive phone calls from anyone and the list of your contacts grew from zero to astonishing number of fifteen, after I've thrown your phone away. The flat you live in is small, but you don't have a problem with buying coffee in expensive cafeterias, which means you have money from somewhere. Definitely not your job though, being a detective doesn't pay that well. You've probably inherited it, possibly from your dead parents. The other members of your family are not in the picture as well, so I'm asking…" He took a deep breath and smirked. "What life?"

Victoria really tried to be angry, or offended by his words, but she really couldn't find it in her. All she could do was to stare at him with pure awe, which Molly took as a sign of hurt feelings. Her hand appeared on Vicky's shoulder, snapping her out of her daze. She smiled and shook her head.

"You're such a prick, Holmes, but damn… You're brilliant," she said and watched as his expression changed from smug to surprised. Victoria could also hear Molly's sharp intake of breath, as she had probably expected the detective to be seriously offended.

"Did I get everything right?" Holmes asked and raised his brows.

Victoria grinned widely, realising that she had been waiting for that moment as well. She tilted her head and said:

"Nope."

"What?!" Sherlock spat and took a couple of steps closer, examining her face feverishly. "I must have!"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. Your deductions were spot on. It's just that I've been misleading you for weeks now. Call it an experiment of mine," she said and moved forward as well, standing so close to Sherlock's figure that she could smell his cologne, or whatever it was that he usually used. "You see, you didn't exactly throw away my _real_ phone. And I wouldn't be so stupid to actually leave my phone unprotected. I'm a _detective_. I just wanted to see if I could have fooled you."

He was silent for a moment and then his eyes lit up, once he realised that Victoria had managed to cheat his brilliance.

"You… You tricked me!" he finally said and she clicked her tongue.

"Of course I did. I was planning to do it from the moment I've heard you were alive." Oh, it felt so exhilarating to hold this much power over him. Victoria already knew that this moment was probably going to end up as one of the most exciting in her entire life. "Guess you'll have to start over, genius."

To her surprise, Sherlock blinked a couple of times and then grinned. It was a wild, untamed and pretty genuine smile. His eyes lit up with excitement and pupils dilated, as he kept watching her for a minute. She knew that it would be wise to simply look away, but she couldn't. There was something mesmerising about his face. The detective couldn't tell if it had anything to do with its attractiveness, or if it was just the outcome of staring into his wild, piercing eyes. She could almost see all the cogs turning in his mind, as he was trying to figure out another riddle and it made her body tingle.

"Do you want me to tell you?" she asked after a moment of tensed silence and Sherlock shook his head.

"No, detective. The game is _on_."

* * *

Victoria knew that calling the doctor wasn't a good idea. Figuring it out wasn't really challenging, especially for someone with the ability to plan ahead. There was no way that their relationship could work, but she found herself unable to get his number out of her head. She spent such amount of time staring at the small card, that she memorised the sequence of numbers. After that, it was basically impossible to forget about Duncan Ellis.

She called him, surprising the man completely. He didn't expect her to keep his number, or use it, for that matter. Still, his voice sounded extremely satisfied, when she finally did use it, and Victoria realised that he must have been truly happy to hear from her. They'd spoken for a bit and then decided to meet up in one of the restaurants. It was a _bit_ cliché, she had to admit, but every reason to go out and have a little fun was good enough.

The date went surprisingly well. Victoria definitely didn't expect him to be on time, considering his job and its multiple demands, but when she'd got to the restaurant, he was already waiting, dressed in an elegant jacket and a shirt to match it. He looked great, there was no denying that fact, but Victoria wanted to smile with amusement every time he pretended not to be bothered by his cuffs, or by the tight collar of his shirt. It was clear as day that he wasn't exactly accustomed to such outfits, and somehow it made him even cuter.

The food was nice and so was the conversation. Duncan hadn't become a doctor without a reason; he was incredibly smart, but also a good person. Victoria quickly decided that he deserved to end up with a nice, sweet girl, who would be able to appreciate his nature and accept his demanding job. She almost wished that she could have been that girl, but her mind had already crossed out that possibility. As much as it pained her to admit that, she would never be able to understand those complicated surgeries or diseases. Her brain could have worked miracles on the crime scene, but it was completely useless when it came to memorising textbooks. Maybe she should have invested in that _Mind Palace_ thingy that Sherlock kept talking about?

Ah. Sherlock. Victoria wanted to curse herself, because she was well aware of the main reason for not wanting to pursue the relationship with Duncan. The date might have been nice, perfect even, but her treacherous mind kept wandering off to the consulting detective. She really tried not to compare the two of men, but it was simply impossible.

It wasn't that she had any romantic feelings for Holmes. It wasn't even that she had found him handsome, or attractive. Sure, there were _a lot_ of enticing things about his appearance, but Victoria Radcliffe didn't consider herself crazy enough to fall for any of them. However, there was something that she couldn't get out of her head. His _brilliance_.

She had never been particularly attracted to man that were smarter than her. Not because it hurt her ego, but because they tended to have narcissistic tendencies, which she hated. Sherlock wasn't any different in that aspect, but Victoria couldn't blame him for acting that way. He was exceptional, after all. And it was his exceptionality that made her look at him differently.

Duncan Ellis was charming, sweet and completely _boring_. It was cruel to even consider calling him that, but Victoria simply couldn't help it. Not when she had gotten used to spending her time with someone as chaotic and meticulous at the same time, as Sherlock Holmes.

The detective came back home in a good mood, despite her discovery. Duncan dropped her off and bid her farewell with an innocent peck on her cheek. Part of her wanted him to _truly_ kiss her, but she knew that it was only the loneliness talking. She didn't want to offer him too much hope; she wasn't _that_ cruel. Still, the gesture managed to bring back her relaxed state from the beginning of the date. A smile was still visible on her lips, while she climbed the stairs to her flat, but it quickly disappeared when she took out the keys from her purse and discovered that the door had already been opened.

Someone had definitely broken into her flat. Victoria couldn't have been more sure that she had closed the door before leaving; she was a police officer and she would have never forgotten about something so crucial. Slowly, she raised her skirt and grabbed the gun, resting in the holster on her thigh. Body-con dresses were pretty as hell, but she'd never wore them much for that one single reason –they made it impossible to hide a gun.

Slowly, she pushed the door open and aimed the gun at whoever might have been inside. Her heart thumped against the chest and her breath quickened considerably. As a detective, she was quite aware of the possibility that her career could force her into killing someone, but _knowing_ and _being ready_ for such a thing, were completely different things.

Her small living room was empty, but she could hear sounds coming out of her bedroom. Someone was clearly looking for something and Victoria had no intentions of letting them get it. She took off her heels, as quietly as possible, and started to move towards the door. Suddenly, a man stormed out of the room and stopped abruptly upon seeing her.

"Holmes?!" she yelled and lowered her gun, trying to calm her nerves. The consulting detective stood in the middle of her living room, watching her with a frown on his face. "Did you really break into my apartment?!"

"Your locks are terrible. A child could have picked them," he answered and glanced at her gun. His frown deepened, but he remained quiet.

Victoria felt the urge to shoot him, completely forgetting about her earlier thoughts regarding _killing someone_.

"You _broke into my flat!_ " She gritted her teeth and shook her head. "I could arrest you for that! I could have killed you!"

"You thought I was a _thief_?" He sounded truly offended by the mere suggestion of that, and Victoria closed her eyes in disbelief. Sherlock Holmes was the perfect image of a genius, who also happened to be a _blithering idiot_. "Why would someone want to rob you? The only thing of worth in here, is probably your laptop."

"My laptop?" she asked, opening her eyes and smirking.

"Yes, it must be here somewhere. Everyone has one," he answered and moved, clearly wanting to resume his search. He stopped a second later and glanced at her gun again. "Why did you take a gun to a _date_? And where did you hide it?"

"I'm a cop; wherever I go, my gun goes as well. If someone decides to break into my place, I need to be prepared," she mocked and raised her skirt, revealing the thigh holster.

She was fully aware of the way it must have looked. Most men wouldn't be able to stop themselves from trailing the movement of her fingers with their eyes. They would probably swallow hard and avert their gaze, not wanting to be called perverts, or anything else in similar manner. Sherlock however had no problems with looking at her bare thigh; his gaze lacked any intensity, though. He simply acknowledged the holster and then proceeded to go about his business, which happened to be rummaging through her drawers.

"It's not there, Sherlock," she said and decided that being mad at him was completely pointless. The eventuality of him breaking into her place was so high, that she couldn't exactly be surprised. Hell, she was even _prepared_ for it. "The game is on, remember?"

He looked at her and narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. Victoria smirked at him and quirked her eyebrow, when he returned to rummaging through one of the drawers.

She wasn't lying; her laptop really wasn't _there_. Olivia was more than pleased to adopt it for a couple of days, especially when she'd heard about the game between Sherlock and Victoria. The detective couldn't be more amused with her friend's ridiculous idea that this entire thing was the outcome of _unresolved sexual tension_ , but she wasn't about to correct Liv, as long as it served her purpose.

"I'm going to shower," Victoria announced and shook her head, when Sherlock graced her with no reply. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

* * *

When she had emerged from the bathroom, dressed in her pyjamas, she found Sherlock sitting on her couch with a blank expression. He resembled a statue and it wasn't because of his chiselled cheekbones. He sat so still that Victoria started to worry that maybe he had died out of disappointment of not finding her laptop. But as soon as she sat down beside him, he flinched and a frown appeared on his face.

"So, what did you learn today?" she asked and ruffled her damp hair. "Anything interesting? Am I an orphan? Oh… Maybe I'm _adopted_?!"

Her joke clearly didn't amuse him, but Victoria couldn't care less. His contempt answered all of her questions perfectly. They were playing a game and she was _winning_.

"You have a large collections of vinyl records. Rock classics, mostly. They aren't cheap, so I'd still say that you must have obtained money from _somewhere_. Or maybe they belonged to your parents, what would suggest that either they're dead, or they hold a strong affection for you."

"What makes you sure that they are even mine?" Victoria said and gestured towards the records.

"Your wardrobe contains a large amount of male t-shirts with bands' names on them."

"Maybe they belong to my boyfriend…" she mused, but Sherlock snorted.

"That one thing is obvious. You don't have one, and, judging by the outcome of today's date, you won't have one in the nearest future."

"You can never know, Sherlock. Relationships and emotions aren't your forte, eh?"

"Sentiment is a chemical defect." His response was immediate and it made her roll her eyes.

"Do you tell that to every girl?" she chuckled and the man beside her stiffened considerably, before jumping to his feet and rushing towards the exit. "You owe me _new locks_ , Holmes!"


	6. Chapter 5

_**I'm back!**_ **I'm sorry I wasn't able to post it earlier, but this chapter is _kind of_ important. You'll know why soon enough :) I didn't want to rush it, and I double-checked it for mistakes. I'm not a machine, so, obviously, I might have missed something. Let me know if that's the case, but for now... ENJOY!**

 **Oh, wait. One more, VERY IMPORTANT thing! This story is going to be somewhat connected to 'Undiscovered Feelings' written by KagamiNee. It's not crucial to read them both, but I really do recommend checking it out. She's a great romance writer, and it's always fun to look at Sherlock's and Victoria's relationship through other people's eyes. If you like Molly Hooper and DI Lestrade, you're going to love her story! :)**

 **And now... Enjoy. This time fo real.**

* * *

There was simply no denying that fact. Sherlock Holmes was the most annoying man on the entire planet. Period. Actually, the word 'annoying' hardly described the vastness of things he _evoked_ in her body. She wanted to yell, she wanted to strangle him, and she wanted to rip those curly hair off his head, stuff them into his mouth, so he would finally _shut up_ , if only for a second.

Victoria began to think that associating with Sherlock Holmes was bound to make people crazy. For someone who claimed that _sentiment was a chemical defect_ , he got attached pretty easily. How else could she explain his constant need to follow her everywhere? Because he surely didn't _have to_. She was a great detective. Solving cases was her job, and she did it pretty well. His brilliance wasn't needed on every single murder, just as his obnoxious comments.

She actually felt for John Watson, who had managed to survive his presence for such a long time. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if the doctor decided to get married only to escape Sherlock's company, but Victoria knew it wasn't exactly possible. He'd met Mary long before he'd learned about Sherlock being alive. It was still plausible that the wedding was a bit _rushed_ , and Victoria liked to think that it was actually the case here. Because it would make John Watson a bit more _human_.

"You have a sister," Sherlock stated, making her grit her teeth and come up with another reason to kill him. Maybe Lestrade would be able to defend her _somehow_.

"No," she answered and shot him an angry stare, holding her pen with such a force, that it could break any second. "I have work to do, Sherlock. And no, it has little to do with answering your questions."

"They are not questions," Holmes protested and leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. "Also, I've read your reports and they are terrible. I don't think it'll make any difference if you decided not to write them."

"Those files are classified," she muttered, but Sherlock remained unmoved. "How did you even get them?"

"Stole them. You must have a sister. I see no other reason for your obvious dislike for your own sex."

"I don't dislike other females," she protested and glanced towards Donovan, who had been shooting disgusted glances towards Sherlock ever since he had entered the office. "I just don't like the ones that are… well, stupid."

"That word describes most of the population."

"Not my fault, is it?" she said and pinched the bridge of her nose with annoyance. Victoria really started to think about befriending John Watson. Maybe he would be able to tell her how to withstand those invasions of privacy.

"Your sister is obviously older than you. Probably made you feel small, like you didn't mean much. You were jealous of her, but at the same time, you resented her greatly. Am I right?"

"No."

"Oh, come on!" he yelled and slammed his palm against her desk, making everyone glance their way. "I must be!"

"Why don't you simply steal my file?" she mocked and shook her head. "It would be such a blessing to the both of us. You would have all the answers, and I wouldn't have to listen to you!"

"Because it's not _fun_."

Obviously. Stealing classified files only qualified as fun, when it was meant to drive her crazy.

"You know what else is not fun? Being followed _everywhere_. Don't you have something else to do? A case with John? A wedding to plan? Crushing someone else's dreams and hopes?" she asked and looked at him with desperation.

"All the cases are boring, John spends his time with Mary, and, apparently, planning the wedding is much less demanding than I have originally thought. Was your sister abusing you? Is that why you hate females and are afraid of darkness?"

God, she hated him sometimes.

"I have a sister. Her name is Juliette and she's younger than me, actually. No, she didn't abuse me, and no, I didn't abuse _her_. I'm afraid of darkness, because I locked myself in a wardrobe once and the door wouldn't open. So I sat there for hours, alone and scared. Simple as that. And now, can you please _sod off_?" she growled out and Sherlock looked at her for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether she was lying. She was, but it had definitely become one of her strong features over the years.

Sherlock stood up and marched out of the room, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way. Victoria blinked, unsure if it was actually happening. Finally, she broke into a wide grin and looked up to the ceiling, revelling in silence.

It was incredible how much work could a man do, when there was no one bugging him. Victoria felt immensely proud of herself for catching up with all the arrears, so she decided to leave the office early. She deserved a break. The state of her mind testified to that, as she found herself on the verge of going _mad_. Lack of sleep, the constant annoyance and the stack of files, piling up on her desk certainly did nothing good to her mental health.

She exited the building and decided against using the Tube. Maybe the detective's salary couldn't make her rich, but she definitely didn't have to save money all the time. Victoria was about to hail a cab, when a black Jaguar pulled off the road and stopped in front of her.

The detective wasn't stupid. She'd seen similar cars on multiple occasions and she had no troubles deciphering what it meant. Apparently, Mycroft Holmes decided to finally threaten her. Or offer her a lot of money. Victoria couldn't be quite sure, as it all depended on how blatant she would dare to act.

With a tired sigh, she got into the car and shut the door behind her. She really hoped that the _talk_ wouldn't last long and that she would get a free ride home in a very comfortable car afterwards.

"Hello, detective." A woman's voice reached her ears and she glanced sideways, only to find a very pretty brunette sitting next to her.

The woman's eyes were focused on her cell phone, and Victoria knew that it was probably a part of the tactic to make her as uncomfortable as possible. She smiled gently and said:

"Hello, Miss Kidnapper. I've waited for that moment for such a long time."

Her mocking tone forced the woman to shoot her a curious glance, before she returned to her phone yet again.

"Sorry for the inconvenience."

Victoria almost rolled her eyes at the woman's response, but decided not to seek out a longer conversation. She'd need her strength for later and she didn't have much. It was best to simply fall silent and enjoy the ride.

After what seemed like at least half an hour, the car stopped and the mysterious woman opened the door, leaving Victoria behind. The detective felt tempted to just stay in the vehicle, but decided against it, when her mind conjured a memory of Mycroft's cold eyes. Pissing him off even before they'd met didn't feel like something _wise_ to do, so she exited the car and looked around instantly.

A levelled parking lot. Huge, abandoned parking lot. Victoria really couldn't help, but to feel a bit disappointed, knowing that she wouldn't get a chance to visit one of those fancy clubs, which rich and important people visited on daily basis. She guessed that Mycroft was one of these people, but apparently, he wasn't going to let her take a sneak peek into his life.

"He's waiting for you," the woman said and gestured towards the lone silhouette standing near the edge of the parking lot. From the level they were currently on, the view must have been pretty good.

"I figured," she answered and started to move towards the figure, trying not to let her anxiousness show.

She would have to be a sodden fool to not be nervous about _meeting_ Mycroft Holmes. She'd caught Sherlock calling him 'the most dangerous man in the country' on few occasions, and felt inclined to believe him. Hell, Victoria had met the man, and, indeed, he didn't strike her as the most docile person on planet. Quite the contrary.

When she'd stopped next to him, he didn't even acknowledge her presence at first. He was too busy with smoking his cigarette, puffing the smoke out of his mouth and watching it float up towards the grey, gloom sky. Victoria nearly bit her lip, trying not to inhale the smoke; ditching that terrible addiction turned out to be incredibly difficult and she was really proud of maintaining her nicotine-free life. It was still hard to be surrounded by a smoking crowd, though.

"What do you want?" she asked, not caring for being polite. After all, he _kidnapped her_.

"Detective Radcliffe," he greeted coldly, still not looking at her. "I'm glad you could make it."

Oh, he definitely had the cheek. She almost let out an unladylike snort upon hearing his words, but stopped herself just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. It was incredibly surprising that he was even capable of even such an emotion.

"Turns out, riding in a Jag is not exactly demanding," she answered and sighed with annoyance. "What do you want?"

"It has come to my attention that you're spending an awful amount of time with my brother."

This time, she snorted loudly and smiled. That was one way of calling Sherlock's stalking tendencies.

"I'm helping him, whenever John's busy," she said and Mycroft looked at her with unreadable expression.

"My brother hardly needs help from the police. He might be the _stupid Holmes_ , but he's still smarter than any of you."

"He's smarter than basically everyone, John included," she replied and smiled mockingly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem to despise John this much."

"And how would you know that?" Mycroft asked and raised his eyebrows. "Is Sherlock _confiding_ in you?"

"Of course not. Your brother is hardly the emotional type, is he?" she laughed in response and shook her head. " _Sentiment is a chemical defect_ , ay?"

Mycroft remained silent, watching her intently, so Victoria sighed and looked at the view stretching in front of her eyes. The winter was coming to an end, but the gloomy aura was determined to rule over London for a much longer period. Somehow, the weather seemed perfectly fitting for the meeting with the older of the Holmes brothers.

"I've met John. I don't know much about him, but I'd say he's sweet and caring. Kind of the opposite of Sherlock. Their friendship is probably the weirdest thing, but at the same time, it's hard to imagine the one without the other. I think that even with your cold demeanour, you understand that, just as much as everyone else," she said quietly and glanced at him, only to find his figure rigid with tension. Even such a control freak couldn't act like a machine all the time.

"John Watson is a special case," Mycroft answered after a moment of silent. "I am unable to understand the interest my brother holds for the man, but it is not as… burdening, as I thought it would be."

"Burdening?" Victoria snorted again. "Jesus, you really are brothers, huh? I don't know what made you despise feelings so much, but they really aren't that terrible."

"They make people weak. Weak and stupid, to be precise."

"So why is Sherlock's friendship with John any different?"

"It isn't. Not in that matter. Sherlock will understand that in his own time. But until it hasn't forced him to do anything dangerously stupid, I'm willing to tolerate it."

"Charming." She rolled her eyes and sighed. Victoria really wished that Mycroft could understand how _stupid_ his own words were, but it didn't seem all that likely. "Let's not talk about John. I doubt you're able to understand the complexity of human relations anyway. Why am I here?"

"Sherlock already has one vulnerability," Mycroft stated and lit up another cigarette. He even had the audacity to blow the smoke in her direction. Judging by the smile on his face, he'd done that with a great pleasure. "He doesn't need another one. Unfortunately, you're right. My brother is smart, compared to the rest of the society. It makes him _dangerous_. The British government cannot afford letting him become even more so."

"Oh, and you think that his relationship with me is a bit hazardous?"

"Yes."

"Interesting. Care to enlighten me why? John's posing a threat, because Sherlock cares for him. I don't think that's the case with me."

"Because you're smarter than the rest of the society too. Not as brilliant as me, or my little brother, but still way above average. There's already been one woman in Sherlock's life, who could be described in such way, and their _relationship_ has almost led to a tragedy."

A woman? Victoria expected _everything_ , but not this. Sherlock had never struck her as a person interested in anything even remotely romantic. That opinion wasn't based on a hunch; he was cold and detached from things that other people defined as normal. He seemed machine-like sometimes, perfect and automatic. Victoria truly believed that there might have been a human hidden under that rock-hard shelf of _sociopathy_ , but she was far from believing that some female would be able to break it.

"Was she his…" she stopped herself, as soon as the world 'girlfriend' popped into her head. You didn't have to know Sherlock Holmes for a very long time, to know that such term was hardly fitting to describe his _significant other_. It sounded plain and weirdly _cheesy_ in comparison to his complex personality and brilliance.

Victoria scowled and sent Mycroft a meaningful look, making him smile mockingly in response.

"Girlfriend?" he asked and took another puff of his cigarette. "Don't be ridiculous. Irene Adler could hardly be fitted into such a meaningless term."

Irene Adler. Victoria would have to lie to say she'd known the woman, but even her name sounded somewhat exciting. Because she surely must have been pretty interesting to catch Sherlock's attention. The detective briefly considered asking Mycroft some questions about the mysterious lady, but decided against it. Whatever happened between Sherlock and her, Victoria didn't want to give an impression of _caring_ for the consulting detective, and asking about another woman in his life would certainly give such impression.

"I wouldn't know," she said and shrugged. "It's the first time I've heard of her."

"She's dead." Mycroft's harsh tone came as a surprise and it made Victoria look at him intently. Why was he even talking about Irene? If she was dead, she could hardly do any more harm.

"That's terrible. But I still don't know what does it have to do with me?"

"Because you're more like her than you realise, detective." Mycroft's response surprised her, there was no denying that fact.

Victoria wasn't sure if the man had meant her personality, or maybe her appearance, but it was safe to say that it didn't really matter. She still didn't understand the relationship between the consulting detective and Irene Adler, but Victoria couldn't help, but to feel weird, knowing that Sherlock must have known about the similarities between Radcliffe and his _mysterious woman_. If Mycroft had spotted the resemblance, Sherlock must have done so too.

"Again, I wouldn't know anything about that." Her voice sounded a bit colder and stiffer than she intended it too, and Mycroft must have noticed it, judging by his sudden mocking smile. "Even if I was her twin, it still wouldn't mean that my relations with your brother are going to be the same."

"It's not your _relations_ I'm worried about," Mycroft said and dropped the cigarette to the ground, stomping his foot on it. "It's what those relations could mean to everyone else."

Victoria clenched her teeth, realising that the older of the Holmes' brothers was probably the most paranoid person on the entire planet. Sherlock might have been mildly interested in her, because she challenged him in some ways, but he was far from being _attracted_ to her. They didn't live in a world, where tolerating someone could be considered a sign of _raging feelings_. Even a person as limited as Mycroft Holmes had to know the difference between affection and simple acquaintanceship.

"Sherlock claims that he's never held any sentiment towards Miss Adler," Mycroft continued after a moment of tense silence. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I strongly disagree. He rarely makes such blatant mistakes, as those he's made when Irene Adler was around. His natural need to show-off was almost uncontainable."

"Those mistakes have almost cost as everything. In the end, he's managed to fix them, but the British government can't risk another situation like this one. I'm sure you want what's best for our country. You're a police officer, after all." He smiled tightly and looked at her with superiority that did nothing to support his claim.

"So what do you want me to do, huh?" she asked and crossed her arms on her chest. Obviously, Victoria had no intentions of agreeing to do whatever it was that Mycroft wanted, but there was no harm in hearing him out.

"Oh, it's entirely up to you. You could request a transfer to another city, you could drop out of work entirely and simply move out on your own… or you could stay here and hide from Sherlock, until he gets bored and moves on to something new."

He had got to be kidding her. Did he really think that she would agree to doing something so ridiculous? She was under the impression that he was actually smart.

"Um, the answer's no," she snorted and shook her head. "You're asking me to leave my life behind, just so your brother would have no contact with me. That's utterly stupid, and I'm not going to do it."

Mycroft's smile faded away, leaving his face almost stone cold. She tried not to shiver at the intensity of his gaze, but she barely succeeded. His blue eyes –so similar to Sherlock's in some ways- reminded her that the winter hadn't exactly left the UK just yet. They were unforgiving.

"I must warn you, making an enemy out of me is not very smart. I have information about you that could ruin your life, detective."

"Do you? And what would those be, huh?" she asked, trying to ignore the anxiousness awaking in her mind. Victoria Radcliffe was not an angel, but she wasn't a devil either. Whatever Mycroft had on her, she was fairly sure it couldn't _ruin her life_. Fairly, but not entirely.

"Why do you fear darkness, detective?"

Victoria felt her entire confidence disappear, leaving only anxiousness and a shadow of doubt. Was he asking, because he wanted to hear her answer, or did he simply want to tell her that he had already known _everything_? Either way, she wasn't going to budge.

"Because of one reason," she answered and smiled sweetly. "A reason, which is… None of your business."

"I'm sure it must have been terrible, to sit alone in a big house, waiting for help to come. Hours, and hours, and hours…" he clicked his tongue and let out a theatrical sigh. "For such a little girl, it has probably felt like eternity, hasn't it?"

So he _did_ know. Victoria wanted to punch him straight to the face, but her body remained stiff and unresponsive. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her, or scare her into submission.

"It was, thank you for understanding," she replied and frowned. "But I don't really see how it could ruin my life."

"Simple, detective. We both know what has happened that night. Others don't. Letting them know about the truth is one thing, but forcing them into believing in a different version of the events would be equally easy."

Her mouth flew open, as shivers ran down her spine. There was no sign of her anxiousness left. Her entire mind got filled with nothing, but fear and disbelief.

"You wouldn't…" she started, but her words sounded so ridiculous, that she stopped herself and clenched her teeth once again. Of course he _would_. That was the entire point of their conversation. He was Mycroft Holmes, and she was _no one_. "I used to think that Sherlock would turn out to be the worse out of the two of you. Oh, how wrong I was. You both do things to ensure the country's safety, but there's a huge difference between the two of you. One of you is just like the monsters you so desperately hunt. The other isn't."

"That's where you're wrong, detective. Both of us are _monsters_. Which is why you should do what I ask. Not for me, but mostly for yourself. Sooner or later he will force you to cross a certain line. And I guarantee you, you won't be able to resist doing so, even if it will lead to a life filled with self-hatred. Mark my words, detective. _Mark my words_."


	7. Chapter 6

**I'm really curious what will you think about this chapter and some of the... things inside :D So before we get to it, pretty, pretty please, let me know! Honestly guys, every review makes me so happy that I want to cry! Don't hesitate to leave one :)**

 **Thank you for all those follows and favs. I am kind of shocked to see how much you seem to enjoy this story. Obviously, shocked in the most positive way. Once again, thank you! And now, let's get to it :)**

* * *

Avoiding Sherlock Holmes turned out to be even more difficult than putting up with him. It wasn't because of his never-ending texting, or because of his stalking tendencies. Those had miraculously ended, although Victoria had no idea _why_. Actually, she hadn't seen Sherlock from that memorable day of her talk with Mycroft. Did she manage to offend him? Or maybe her blatant and straight-forward response was enough to simply make him lose his interest? Whatever it was, it worked and she could now enjoy her Sherlock-free life.

Except she didn't. Victoria knew that she was supposed to cherish the silence and focus on the more important things in her daily life, which was why she tried to stop herself from texting him, or even visiting Baker Street. She tried and she was beginning to fail miserably.

The questions circling her mind didn't help one bit. The detective had no intentions of listening to Mycroft's warnings, or threats, as some people would undoubtedly describe his words. She could take care of herself. Even if being close to Sherlock could lead to being hurt, even if it meant having to fight for her good reputation, it was still _her choice_. No one could take that away from her. Not even the almighty Mycroft Holmes.

A big part of her conviction to stay close to Sherlock had to deal with _The Woman_. Victoria wasn't stupid, and she certainly knew how to use the Internet. Irene Adler might have been dead, but the traces of her life were still easily found. As soon as Victoria had returned to her house, she started to search the net, trying to establish what made that woman so intriguing to capture Sherlock's attention. If this entire case concerned any other man, the answer would be pretty obvious.

Irene Alder was _beautiful_. Not perfect, but captivating in the most interesting way; even in those pictures, Victoria had no doubts that she must have been hypnotizing. Maybe it had a lot to do with her perfect body, but her idea would be to blame it all on the _eyes_ \- eyes that looked incredibly like Victoria's.

God, how shocked she was when the realisation hit her. Irene Adler, of course, was much older, but even with their age difference, it was still pretty clear that their appearances bore a striking resemblance to each other. They both had dark hair and those electrifying blue eyes, surrounded by thick, long lashes. Okay, so maybe they wouldn't pass for _twins_ , but no one would ever doubt them if they'd decided to pose as sisters. Somehow, every single difference between them only made the similarities all the more pronounced. Victoria really didn't know what to think of it.

Her confusion was one of the reasons for her desperate need to reach out to Sherlock. She strongly doubted that he would have answered her questions, but she wasn't a detective without a reason. Even when it came to someone as impassive and statue-like, Radcliffe could still read him better than most people. Maybe she would be able to find _something_ in his expression that could soothe her anxiousness; a twitch of his lips, a spasm of muscles, an almost invisible scowl… Anything would have been better than sitting in her apartment, trying to come up with even remotely plausible explanation.

Victoria knew that she couldn't simply break her resolve and contact him. She was the one who started this entire game, and, as for now, she was winning _big_. Sherlock still had no clue whatsoever about her real past, and he seemed to acknowledge his defeat by simply withdrawing himself from her life. How could she ruin it all, because of her _curiosity_?

It was perfectly clear that her free evening had to be filled with _some_ entertainment. Otherwise, she would have nothing to distract her mind with, and her mind, spinning out of control, could be the most dangerous thing that had ever happened to her. So, she did the only thing she could have. She called Olivia.

* * *

"I've brought wine and food. Oh, and more wine!" Her friend raised both of her hands, as soon as Victoria had opened the door to her apartment. The detective wasn't even surprised that it took her only an hour to get here, equipped in both Chinese take-out and some cheap, probably disgusting, wine. That woman was like a _party-radar_ sometimes.

"Good. Come in," she answered and moved away from the door, letting her friend walk into the flat. She locked the door a moment later, struggling a bit with her new locks. Victoria knew better than to leave the door unprotected; there was no doubt that later on she would be way too drunk to remember about her own safety.

It took only a minute for Olivia to settle down on the couch, like she owned the thing. Her friend lacked not only a sense of realism, but also something that could only be described as _subtlety_. She didn't even bother to take her shoes off, until she plopped down on the soft pillows and decided to pull her legs up. Her high heels made a raucous, as Liv wiggled her feet out of them, scattering them all over Victoria's living room floor.

"Please, get comfortable," Victoria stated dryly and shook her head. She headed towards the kitchen, wanting to uncork the wine and get some plates. A moment later, she was back in the living room with an amused expression on her face. "I should have known that you're going to buy a wine without an actual cork."

"Screw-on-tops are so much more efficient." Olivia shrugged and grinned widely. "We both know nothing about _good quality wine,_ so I don't see a reason for us to have to fuck with those fancy torture devices called _corks_."

"How can you torture someone with a cork?"

Olivia sent her a meaningful glance and Victoria fought the urge to scowl.

"I bet you can shove it in many places."

Sometimes it felt almost funny, how obscene could Olivia be. It felt even funnier when you realised that Olivia was also hell-bent on finding her _one true love_.

"So, what did you call this emergency meeting?" Her girlfriend asked and grabbed one of the take-out boxes.

"It's not an emergency. I just have the night-off, so I've decided to…"

"You never ask me to come here and get hammered with you, Vic," Olivia interrupted and stuffed her mouth with food. It didn't stop her from speaking, though. "It's either a problem with some guy, which we both know is impossible, or it has to be something _serious_."

Victoria rolled her eyes at the obvious insult in her friend's words, but did nothing to protest. She really wasn't the one to have 'boy problems', probably because of the raging absence of men in her life. This time, things were different though. Vic knew that the purpose of this entire evening had been to not think about Sherlock, or talk about him, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that Olivia deserved to know about him.

"Actually, the impossible just became possible. Kind of," she added, seeing her friends eyes lit up with excitement. Victoria wanted her to know about Sherlock, but she definitely didn't want her to draw some _funny_ conclusions.

"Oh, my, God! You're dating someone?!" Liv yelled inappropriately loud, and Victoria scowled, unable to stop herself. Shit, she should have known better than to start this topic like _that_. Now, she would never convince Liv to forget about this misunderstanding. Last thing she needed was for her best friend to play a _matchmaker_.

"No. Don't be stupid," she protested, but Olivia already started to grin like a psycho, with the idea blossoming in her mind. "It's about a man, but I'm not dating him. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

Olivia stopped smiling and looked at her intently. Her friend was quite oblivious when it came to Victoria's work, but in all honesty, the detective liked it that way. She needed _someone_ to balance out all of the stressful, terrifying sights from her work. It must have been surprising for Liv to hear the world's only consulting detective, coming out of Radcliffe's mouth. Even Olivia Lawson knew who Sherlock Holmes was.

"Isn't he a psychopath, or something?"

"A high functioning sociopath, there's a distinct difference," Victoria corrected immediately and scowled, seeing Liv's smug expression. Crap, another trap she'd fallen into.

"I guess I cannot blame you for having troubles, when it's _him_ you're dating. Although he does look kind of dashing in that coat."

"We're not dating! We work together sometimes."

"If it's just _work,_ why do you want to talk about him?"

Victoria sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, already regretting bringing that subject up. Obviously, she needed the advice, but Olivia could be so irritating that it would probably be a better idea to seek it elsewhere.

"Sherlock's… well, he's complicated. He drives me crazy most of the time, to be honest. He's arrogant, rude, doesn't care about anything, or anyone, but he's also brilliant."

"And he does look dashing in that coat."

"Fine," Victoria snorted and shook her head. "The coat is hot."

"I knew it!" Olivia raised her fisted hand and smiled widely.

"The thing is, I'm not interested in him _romantically_. I would have to be crazy to think about having a relationship with him."

"You're working homicide. You _are crazy_ , Vic," Olivia said and frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to hook up with him?"

Victoria nodded, but Olivia didn't stop frowning. The detective knew that it would take at least a couple of weeks of constant reassuring to get Liv to believe her, so she didn't want to waste her breath on it _now_.

"His brother, Mycroft, is kind of powerful. He works for the government and he can be pretty scary. I've met him lately, and he's said some things… Things that bother me."

"What things?"

"He may have threatened me a little," she said and earned herself a muffled whine from her friend. "Told me to stay away from Sherlock, to put it mildly."

"But why? Isn't Sherlock an adult?" Olivia asked, making Victoria snort in amusement. She clearly hadn't known the man. Otherwise, she would have never called him _that_.

"Technically, he is. Mycroft claims that Sherlock's taken an interest in me, because of some other woman…" Victoria answered and frowned. "Irene Adler."

Before she could say anything else, Liv took out her phone and typed The Woman's name into the search engine. She only needed few minutes of silence to look up at Victoria with a baffled expression. Then, she glanced at her phone, and back to Victoria.

"Yeah, I know," Radcliffe said and scowled. "That what's bugging me. I don't know the extent of Sherlock's and Irene's relationship, but Mycroft said that it has almost led to a tragedy. Tragedy of a national importance," she added and rolled her eyes.

"National importance? From what I see, that Adler lady is a dominatrix. What, did she spank the Prime Minister too hard, or what?" Olivia snorted, but Victoria was far from amused.

"I don't know, Liv. But trust me, Mycroft wouldn't have said so, if it wasn't serious."

"Okay, fine. But what does it have to do with _you_?"

"Mycroft says that Irene and I are similar, more than anyone could think. I don't think it's only about the way we look. He says that I'm smarter than most of the society, and that it makes me dangerous to Sherlock. Apparently, my resemblance to Irene, in addition to my intellect, can make Sherlock forget about his main rule – that sentiment is just a chemical defect."

"He thinks that?!" Olivia said and touched her chest in obvious outrage. "What a bloody moron!"

Victoria laughed, knowing that there weren't many people who would have dared to call Sherlock Holmes _a moron_. Especially not because of the emotional detachment he was proud of.

"Yeah, well… Like I said, I'd have to be crazy to fall for him."

Olivia fell silent for a moment and then her expression changed to a completely serious one.

"Vic… I may not know much about your work and its importance, but it kind of seems like you've managed to walk into some _serious_ troubles here. I mean, working with Sherlock Holmes must be pretty exciting, but from what you've just told me, his brother is not someone to be messed with."

"He wants me to move out of London, Liv. To leave everything behind, just because he doesn't want me close to Sherlock. I'm not going to forget about my life here. I've already started it from scratch _once_. I don't want to do it again," she answered and took a massive sip out her glass. The wine really tasted horrible, but she didn't care. "He knows about my past."

Olivia didn't say a thing, but it was pretty clear that this statement disturbed her a lot. To be honest, it disturbed Victoria too, but what could she do about it? Nothing. Letting Mycroft win wasn't an option.

"That's what he's threatened you with?"

"No. He's threatened to tell _lies_ about what happened. It wouldn't be that difficult. Not many people know the truth anyway, and the case went cold ages ago. Faking some evidence to support his lies would probably be a piece of cake for someone like him."

"Then why are we even talking about this?!" Olivia moved rapidly, getting closer to Victoria. "Why aren't you leaving? You could go to jail, if someone believes him!"

"I was a child back then, Liv. No one would put me away _now_. In the meantime, I haven't done anything that could give them a reason to arrest me. It's my reputation he's after. No one would allow me to work cases anymore. Even Lestrade wouldn't."

"Then my question still stands! Why aren't you leaving?!"

"And where would I go, huh?!" Victoria snapped angrily and closed her eyes. "If Sherlock really is interested in me, for one reason or another, he would never believe that I decided to just stop working for the Yard. It doesn't make sense. And trust me, he would draw the right conclusions in a matter of _seconds_. That's how brilliant he is. He would be able to find me, wherever I've decided to go, and Mycroft has to know that as well."

"Then why…"

"Because he wants me to run away, until Sherlock loses his interest. Because he doesn't give a crap about my life, either way. I'm not going to throw away my career and whatever chances for a happy life I _may have_ , just because of his threats that can reach me basically _everywhere_."

Olivia clenched her fists and tried to come up with another solution, but in the end, she sighed and shook her head with resentment.

"He's a big fucker, huh?"

"It seems so, yes," Victoria said and took another sip of her wine. "Fuck, that's disgusting."

"Don't worry. It's only going to taste better and better, the more you drink it. To be honest, it's not like you don't have reasons to get pissed," her friend answered and scowled. "So, are you going to stay away from detective-hotness?"

"To be honest, he's kind of staying away from me, as of now," Victoria said, ignoring the last part of Liv's question. She really didn't need to think of Sherlock in those terms. "I should be glad, I suppose."

"But you're not."

"No. Not really." The wine was really starting to affect her, if she was willing to even admit that. It was true, no matter how hard she tried to deny it; she missed Sherlock Holmes, with all his annoying and demanding comments. "There are just so many reasons why texting him is a bad idea. He was basically stalking me for some time, and I wanted it to stop. We have this game going on," she said and Olivia sent her a meaningful smile. "and no, it isn't _sexual_. He's supposed to figure out everything about my past. It makes no sense for him to just _stop trying_ , but at the same time, it means that I'm winning, and… Oh, God! This is so fucking frustrating!"

Olivia started to laugh in response, and Victoria looked at her with offense. It was hardly the reaction she anticipated, but she couldn't exactly blame her friend for laughing at her pathetic behaviour. She may have deserved it, but it still didn't hurt less to be laughed at.

"You know what it sounds like to _me?_ Like you might be crazy enough to actually fall for him."

Oh, God. This couldn't be happening.

"Liv… Sherlock Holmes might be brilliant and mesmerising at times, but he has absolutely _no social skills_. He broke into my apartment, for fuck's sake! Just because he wanted to win this stupid game!"

"Then what about Miss Adler, huh? How do you explain _that?_ "

"I don't know," she answered and raised the glass to her lips, only to find that she had somehow finished her drink already. "She was smart. Maybe that was the only reason why Sherlock was interested in her. Apparently, it is very hard to find an intelligent woman these days."

"I'd argue with that statement," Liv answered and pouted a bit, without the intention of saying anything else.

"Yeah, well… For Sherlock, everyone's pretty dumb. You'd know what I mean, if you'd met the man. Anyway, I doubt that there was much of a romance between him and that Adler woman."

"Maybe he just likes to be spanked."

"Liv!" Victoria yelled and closed her eyes, trying not to think about Sherlock getting spanked. Desperately trying.

"I'm sorry! I just don't know what else could be so interesting about her."

"I don't know as well. And I never will. She's dead, apparently."

"Oh. It just makes things worse." Olivia suddenly started to frown, and Victoria decided that it was one of the most horrifying expressions she had ever seen on her friend.

"Why?"

"Because it means that you remind him of his _dead girlfriend_."

God, the word 'girlfriend' sounded so wrong in Sherlock's context. Victoria knew that trying to explain that to Olivia was utterly pointless, but her ears couldn't help, but to itch with how horrible it sounded.

"So what? I'd still remind him of her, even if she wasn't dead."

"Yeah, but there's a difference between the ex and the _dead_ ex."

Okay, so maybe it was a bit fucked up. But how could she help being _slightly_ similar to Irene Adler? She wasn't going to invest into a plastic surgery just because of that.

"Fine, you're right. But it doesn't change the fact Sherlock and I are _never_ going to be together. Trust me on that one."

Suddenly, before Olivia could answer, there was a sound that alarmed the detective in a blink of an eye. Someone was trying to pick her lock and Victoria realised who it must have been. Apparently, their _silent days were over_.


	8. Chapter 7

**Things are starting to _happen,_ people. And I really like those things. Since I'm feeling mysterious today, that's all I'm going to say for now :D**

 **As usual, thank you for reading, following, reviewing and all that jazz. You're amazing!**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Muahaha.**

* * *

"Is someone trying to break into your place?" Olivia whispered feverishly. She didn't look scared, or even remotely concerned, as her face showed nothing, but excitement.

"It's Holmes," Vic whispered back, and Liv's excitement became even more pronounced.

"Shut up! Really?!"

"Yes. Which is why I need you to _behave_ ," she replied and the door opened with a quiet click.

Olivia stopped herself from squealing in delight when Sherlock Holmes walked into the room, with his _hot coat_ and absolutely no need to at least pretend to be sorry for breaking into Victoria's place _again_. Liv immediately summoned her prettiest smile and crossed her legs, looking as provocative as possible. Victoria really wanted to send her a pitiful look, but decided to focus on Sherlock instead.

Her slightly inebriated mind had somehow forgotten about all the reasons for being mad at him, making it impossible not to laugh at his confusion upon seeing Victoria and her friend.

"Oh," he said and looked around. "You shouldn't have been home. I specifically ordered Lestrade to give you a chance to get drunk in some bar."

"Why would you do that?" Victoria asked and raised her eyebrows.

"Because I wanted to break into your apartment, and doing so with you inside is utterly pointless."

"You think?"

Sherlock didn't seem to notice her mocking tone. His eyes settled on Olivia, who watched him with a playful smile. Victoria couldn't decide if she wanted to groan out loud at her friend's stupidity, or if she'd rather watch the scene in front of her, hoping for some great deal of entertainment. Finally, she decided on the latter and switched her position to a more comfortable one.

"Who are you?" Holmes asked, not caring for a polite tone. _Obviously._ "Victoria is most certainly not a lesbian, which crosses out that possibility. She also _hates_ other females, so you couldn't possibly be a friend."

Victoria snorted in amusement, seeing Olivia's expression change drastically. Instead of playful, she was now full-blown offended.

"Vic doesn't hate women and I'm definitely her friend, thank you very much!" the girl stated and frowned.

Oh, this could be _good_. Victoria realised that maybe it wouldn't take that much work to convince Olivia to drop her ludicrous idea about her and Sherlock getting romantically involved.

"Maybe you're just an exception. People are constantly trying to convince themselves that they don't have problems." Sherlock's response pissed her off even more, and Victoria decided that she'd rather not see Liv get violent.

"Okay, that's enough," she interrupted and stood up, walking up to the consulting detective. "Sherlock, since I'm actually home, things could go two ways. You could leave and abandon plans to ever break into my place _again_ , or you could stay and _be nice_."

The man looked at her intently, then bowed down and sniffed her. Victoria stopped breathing for a second, deciding that it felt incredibly uncomfortable to be _sniffed_ by another person on purpose. Especially if that person was Sherlock Holmes.

"You've been drinking," he said and straightened himself, a smile appearing on his face. "Splendid!"

He took off his coat, revealing his suit and a shirt –plain white this time. Victoria was still too disturbed to glance at Olivia, but she didn't have to look to know that her friend definitely ogled Sherlock like crazy. If it was his great plan to make her forget about his earlier rudeness… He hit a jackpot.

"Why is that _splendid_?" Victoria asked, trying to shake off the awkwardness that had settled into her body.

"Because inebriated people make terrible liars."

Jesus. Did he really want to keep questioning her? What was wrong with that man?!

"Hold on there a sec!" Olivia mumbled. "I think it's very rude to simply barge into someone else's party, to which you were _not_ invited, and then not make an effort to even introduce yourself to everyone!"

Sherlock sat down on the couch, eyeing Olivia up and down, before he smirked knowingly and said:

"Sherlock Holmes. And you are probably one of those girls, who like to control everything and everyone, because you are so convinced of your own superiority. You treasure your looks, but you know that beauty falters over time, which scares you immensely. So you try to find your _one, true love_ in hope that maybe when you become mediocre, just as everyone else, you won't be alone. You drink too much, you sleep too little, and your expensive clothing talks about your great fortune. How did you manage to earn so much money at such a young age? It is virtually impossible, so you must be a part of a very wealthy family. And seeing as I've spotted your face in multiple gossip magazines, I'd risk to say that you're Olivia Lawson. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Victoria really felt bad for Olivia, but it didn't change the fact that her heart skipped a beat, when she listened to Sherlock's brilliant deduction. Of course, he could have easily started off by saying that he'd seen her face already, but his urge to show-off had won yet again. His description of Olivia was spot on, as much is probably pained the poor girl.

"Damn, you're hot," Liv finally said and bit her lip, forcing both Victoria and Sherlock to look at her with dumbfounded expressions. The detective could hardly think of a more inappropriate response to being verbally _slammed_ , but apparently her friend was tougher than it seemed. Or maybe alcohol toughened her up. Either way, she didn't look all that hurt. _Excited_ would be a better term to describe the blush covering her cheeks and the shine of her eyes.

Sherlock, on the other hand, looked absolutely confused. He opened his mouth, trying to come up with a response, but then he closed them and let a frown settle onto his forehead. He chose to say nothing, as he simply stared at her friend intently.

"He really is brilliant, isn't he?" Olivia's question was clearly meant for Victoria, and it easily switched Sherlock's attention back to the detective. Suddenly, his expression changed into a curious one, and Radcliffe decided that she felt _weirdly awkward._ Again.

"Of course he is. I've told you that." She still decided to roll her eyes and pretend like she didn't feel Sherlock's stare pierce holes in her body.

"Sorry, I was way more focused on the part about Mycroft threatening you," Olivia smiled sweetly and Victoria froze.

What. The. Hell.

"My brother has threatened you," Sherlock stated, more than asked, and she realised that there was no way of slithering her way out of this situation.

What was Olivia thinking?! What was the point of telling Sherlock anything about Victoria's little _chat_ with his brother? Not only would it force him to ask even more questions about her past, but it would also mean that she actually had to answer them. Truthfully. Otherwise, Mycroft would know that he was still in the position of dominance.

Bloody hell, what was she thinking…

"Isn't it like his hobby, or something?" Victoria asked, sending a glare towards her friend, who didn't seem all that bugged by it. She kept smiling with satisfaction, probably thinking that her plan turned out to be brilliant.

"My brother doesn't have _hobbies_. It would require the ability to _feel_ something," Sherlock corrected and leaned forward. "He also doesn't threaten just _anyone_. You've caught his interest. Why?"

Victoria opened her mouth, but Sherlock raised his hand and closed his eyes, clearly trying to figure the answer out on his own. She could hear Olivia sigh in appreciation, but ignored it completely, hoping to find some answers for herself. Was she supposed to tell Holmes about Irene? Would she dare to even mention her name? Before she could decide, Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled.

"Please, tell me that Mycroft wouldn't be so stupid to think I may have some _feelings_ for you?" he said, almost spitting out the word 'feelings'. Victoria couldn't say that it was the most pleasant thing to hear, but a part of her felt relieved. Even if he noticed her resemblance to Irene, it didn't change that much. He didn't think about her in _that_ way, and that meant Mycroft really didn't have reasons to destroy Victoria's life. Theoretically speaking.

"He's _your brother_. I'm pretty sure you know him better than I do."

"He's my _arch enemy_ ," Sherlock answered and narrowed his eyes. "What did he tell you. I need his _exact words_ , so please, focus. When it comes to Mycroft, every detail might be important."

"You don't expect her to actually recite their entire conversation, word for word, do you?" Olivia said and crossed her arms at her chest, but Sherlock ignored her.

"Victoria, we don't have all night!"

Radcliffe sighed and rolled her eyes, before trying to recall the conversation she'd had with Mycroft. If Sherlock wanted to hear _all of it_ , she could give him that. Even if it meant admitting to knowing about Irene Adler.

* * *

 _Baker Street. Now. I've run out of milk. –SH_

Victoria rolled her eyes and deleted the message, feeling incredibly pissed at just the thought that Holmes decided to use her as his servant. Again. Before she could have tucked the phone into her pocket, it vibrated again and the screen lit up with another text.

 _Also, we have a case. Need you. –SH_

She couldn't exactly remember the last time they've worked together on a case. Apparently, John's fiancée wanted him to go out some more, which led to Sherlock taking up more cases than usual. Victoria found it surprising that he would do something like that for a _woman_ , but it was actually suiting her at the moment.

Mycroft hadn't exactly reached out to her, but she had a feeling that he was watching her as a hawk. She had known that Sherlock had contacted him, and he claimed that his brother wouldn't bother her again, but he refused to say anything else.

It _bugged her_ , to say the least. One thing she had failed to explain to Sherlock, was her true past. He hadn't asked, which surprised her greatly, but she wasn't about to start complaining. Maybe he simply didn't want her to spoil the fun he had, trying to find out everything about Victoria on his own. Or maybe, although it didn't seem likely, he decided to _respect her privacy_. Probably the first option, though.

Either way, Sherlock had left her place without the actual knowledge of the events that had given Mycroft a perfect opportunity to use them against the detective. Victoria was quite willing to put it all behind her, but it turned out to be impossible; Sherlock had stopped asking her questions. He didn't try to break into her place, he wasn't stealing any more of her files… Nothing. He treated her just as he did in the beginning of their acquaintance. She helped him from time to time, but mostly he simply bombarded her with tons of text messages, that either made sense, or made her worry about his sanity.

Mostly, his behaviour made her feel anxious. Had Mycroft told him everything? Was that why Sherlock went back to his _normal self_? Because he simply saw no mystery in her anymore? She really couldn't find another reason for his behaviour. If Mycroft hadn't shed some light on things that interested his younger brother, why else would Sherlock quit trying to find the answers? That didn't sound like him. And that bothered her the most.

Apparently, she needed to find her _own_ answers. Even if the thought of facing Sherlock made her uneasy, she couldn't run away forever. She was a grown woman, a _detective_ , and she didn't back out of a challenge, just because of some doubts. With a sigh, Victoria grabbed her phone again and typed a short reply.

 _Get that damn milk yourself._

Victoria didn't bother knocking at the door, when she had reached Baker Street 221B. She'd been here so many times already that no one would really hold it against if she simply decided to enter the house, without care for politeness. In fact, Mrs Hudson would probably appreciate not having to open the door for her, since her hip had been bugging her a lot. There was absolutely no option that Sherlock would bother with opening the door _at all_.

The detective entered the house and stopped immediately, when she realised that it hadn't been quiet as usual. Violin. Sherlock was playing _violin_. Victoria wanted to simply stand frozen to her spot, just to savour every note, every haunting sound reaching her from the upstairs. She didn't know much about classical music, except for the fact that it was absolutely breath-taking, if played right. And she had absolutely no doubts that Sherlock was playing it right.

Victoria bit her lip, realising that she couldn't exactly stand there all day, no matter how much she wanted to. A part of her hoped that Sherlock would simply keep on playing, even after she had entered the room, but she knew it was wishful thinking. She'd spent a lot of time, wondering about Sherlock's skills, and playing violin seemed the most surprising out of them all. It surely required focus, precision and a lot of pure talent, but Victoria knew that none of these things were enough to really _play_.

Music could only be truly beautiful, when it was played with _feeling_. Each note had to have a meaning, just like every pause and change of tempo. Everything had to make perfect sense to the performer, so he could tell a story, rather than just play out whatever was written on paper. Music wasn't only about perfection. It was about so much more.

She couldn't stop herself from closing her eyes, knowing that a man like Sherlock –a man so out of touch with his own feelings- should not be able to play this good; yet, the sounds caressing her ears proved her wrong. She didn't know the song, but she knew all about the feelings hidden in the sounds. Longing, pain, melancholy –those were clear as day, making Victoria sigh in appreciation. Unwittingly, she closed the door behind and allowed herself to lean against the cold wooden surface, treasuring the moment, while it lasted.

"Oh, hello, dear!" Mrs Hudson's voice forced her to snap her eyes open and face reality once more. The woman stood at the bottom of the stairs, apparently alarmed by the sound of the door opening. Victoria couldn't stop herself from blushing, seeing a knowing look on the landlady's face. It almost felt like being caught spying on someone in their _intimate_ moment, and she didn't like it one bit. She wasn't a bloody voyeur.

"Good morning," she replied nonetheless, forcing herself to smile. Even embarrassment couldn't stop Victoria from being polite. Mrs Hudson definitely deserved it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the woman asked quietly, nodding her head knowingly. "I'll never know how someone like Sherlock can play this good."

Funny how she was just thinking the same thing, before she'd decided to let herself forget about everything for a moment. Her blush, which started to subside, returned with a doubled force, making Mrs Hudson giggle like a teenager.

"Don't worry, dear. No one's immune to the violin's charm."

Crap. The last thing she needed was to have _another_ person strongly convinced that she was attracted to Sherlock. Olivia proved to be a pain in the ass, and unfortunately for Victoria, her friend could really be stubborn when she had set her mind on something.

"I should probably go upstairs," she said, deciding to ignore the landlady's previous statement. What was she supposed to say? Knowing the woman, any attempts at fixing this, would only make things worse.

"I'll make some tea!"

Victoria followed Mrs Hudson, unwittingly trying to step as quietly as possible, just so she could listen to Sherlock playing for a bit longer. Unfortunately, the stairs ended way to quickly, so she had to push the handle and face the silence that would undoubtedly arise.

Sherlock stood near the window, with his back turned on her, so she couldn't exactly see his expression. He was dressed in his dressing gown that made him seem even taller. To her surprise, he didn't stop playing the violin, even though he must have heard her. She watched for a moment, as his hand guided the bow fluently across the strings, letting the sounds flow beautifully throughout the room. She was afraid to move, not wanting to spoil the somewhat magical atmosphere surrounding her.

Victoria forced herself to move, closing the door behind her with a quiet click, but Sherlock still didn't stop playing. She walked up to the couch and lowered herself on it, which allowed her to look at his profile. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and his usually pale complexion looked a lot healthier -there was an almost unnoticeable pink hue to his cheeks. Victoria couldn't tell if it was the effect of more sleep than usual, or if was the only sign of _feelings_ accompanying him in that exact moment, but whatever it was, it made him look more human, even disturbingly more so.

In a way, it felt like looking at a completely different person. One that wasn't so detached from humanity, one that wasn't a perfect machine. It felt like gazing into his soul, where the real Sherlock was hidden. Victoria could see the occasional twitch of his facial muscles, she could see the slight frown of his brows, whenever the music changed. And it was beautiful. Victoria wanted to snap out of her daze, but she couldn't. Suddenly, it struck her that falling for Sherlock Holmes didn't have to be so crazy, after all. Not when he really _did_ have a different side.

And then he stopped playing, snapping his eyes open and turning around to face her. His gaze was intense, but she could still see some remaining emotions stirring inside his irises. For a moment, she wanted nothing else than to look at him in awe, but she knew she couldn't.

Because Sherlock Holmes could prove himself to be even more dangerous than his brother.


	9. Chapter 8

"This was nice," Victoria said, breaking the silence and snapping herself out of the daze. Sherlock still held the violin close, but his eyes were fixed on her figure, like he was searching for something.

She felt almost as if she was supposed to react in a certain way, like he _expected_ something, and she didn't know what it was. Victoria felt heat rising up to her cheeks and cleared her throat, hoping that Sherlock would simply ignore her blush. Of course, he wouldn't have been himself if he had just let it slide.

"You're blushing. Why?" he asked, lowering his violin. Victoria glared at him and said:

"Because you're staring at me, Sherlock. I don't know if you realise that, but your eyes can be pretty intense. It's like being X-rayed."

"I've stared at you before and you never did that," he noticed and took a step forward, bending over to look at her from a closer distance. "Your pupils are dilated."

Crap. What was she supposed to say to that, huh? She just had a moment of weakness, and it was a pretty justifiable moment, at least in her mind. Sherlock Holmes was an _artist_ , and he looked bloody good with the violin rested underneath his chin. Victoria would have to be deaf and completely blind not to find him attractive in that moment. But that's all it was. A moment.

"I love violin," she stated and shrugged.

"Mm."

His answer wasn't the most articulate one, but Victoria still could tell that he had his own theory and he didn't believe a word she'd just said. She seriously did not want him to think that she was _attracted_ to him, but she couldn't exactly start explaining herself. Only guilty people tended to do that.

"Why am I here, Sherlock?" she asked instead and he straightened himself, gesturing to the wall. Victoria raised his eyes, when she realised that it had been covered with sheet music. She glanced back at Holmes, who still watched her intently. "I thought we had a case."

"We do. The wedding's getting closer and closer, and I still haven't finished composing a piece for John and Mary's first dance."

Hell no. Did he really call her just because he wanted to play his music to her? Not that she minded listening, but considering the events of the last couple of minutes, she really didn't want to send her mind into an overdrive.

"Okay. Sherlock, you have to stop calling me, whenever you have a _personal problem_."

"You weren't doing anything anyway. Lestrade has sent you on a compulsory leave."

"That doesn't mean I wasn't busy. I have a life, as you've probably already figured." She rolled her eyes and sighed tiredly.

"Yes. I'm still completely baffled as to why you chose Olivia Lawson as your… _friend_." He almost spat the last word, clearly dissatisfied with Victoria's decision. "She's a bit… shallow, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not the expert on people here," she mocked in response, earning herself a glare from the consulting detective. "Come on, Sherlock. John Watson is not exactly _brilliant_ either, and you consider him your friend, don't you?"

"How did you even meet?" Sherlock asked, ignoring her question completely. "You've obviously come from wealth, but you stray away from it now."

Her heart skipped a beat, when she realised that it was one of the first questions he'd asked about her background since he'd spoken to Mycroft. He certainly didn't look like he had known the answer already. Victoria decided that she wouldn't get a better chance of asking her own questions, so she exhaled, calming herself, and asked:

"Hasn't Mycroft told you already?"

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, but then he slowly shook his head.

"No."

"So how did you convince him to leave me alone? How…" she stopped herself, unable to find the right words to portray her thoughts.

"Mycroft can tell all the lies, and it still won't be enough. I may not know everything about your past, Victoria, but you have certain traits that lead me to believe you're a _good person_." Only Sherlock could have made it sound like an insult, but she wasn't about to interrupt him. Not when her heart tried to skip out of her chest, from all the anxiousness she felt. "Most people have skeletons in their closets, as I prove on daily basis, but you… If anything terrible has happened in your past, it couldn't have been your fault. Or, at least, it couldn't have been intentional. Besides, my brother had to threaten you with _lies_ , which obviously says a lot."

"But how does it change anything?"

"I work to _uncover_ the truth, not to bury it. Mycroft knows that I would never allow him to get away with lies. My brother hoped that you would get scared, that he could bully you into leaving, before I got the chance to learn about all of this. Things worked out differently, and he doesn't have a leverage anymore."

"He can easily create evidence to back up his version," she noticed and Sherlock offered her a mocking smile.

"Oh, he definitely can do that. But he _won_ ' _t._ He knows that I can be dangerous. He even told you that. Mycroft knows that if he goes against me on this, he's going to regret it."

Victoria looked at Sherlock for a moment, feeling terribly unsure of herself. No one had known Mycroft better than his brother, but she still found his calmness hard to believe. What if it all had been a game? What if she had just got stuck between two major players, and no matter what she'd decided to do, she'd still lose in the end?

"There's also the fact that Mycroft rarely makes mistakes," Sherlock added, seeing her obvious doubts. "But when he does, he never makes them again. And he misjudged you horribly, I'm afraid."

"Misjudged me _how?_ "

Sherlock walked up to his chair and slumped down on it, staring at something in the kitchen. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but Victoria thought he looked uneasy.

"Because of your similarity to Miss Adler," he answered finally and glanced at Vic, observing her reaction. The detective tried to remain calm, but she was unable to stop herself from flinching. He must have noticed, but didn't say a word, as he returned to staring at something in front of him. "She was unpredictable, ruthless and had absolutely no moral code. She was also intelligent to the point, where even I found her somewhat… interesting, for the lack of the better word."

Victoria listened to his words carefully, allowing a frown to settle on her forehead. It felt incredibly _weird_ to listen to Sherlock talking about another woman with such a clear emotion in his voice. To someone, who didn't know him, it would probably be almost unnoticeable, but to her, it was clear as day –Irene Adler had forced Sherlock to _feel_.

"Doesn't sound like me," Victoria said, ignoring the awkwardness arising in her body.

"No, it doesn't, which is why Mycroft misjudged you. Because he's strongly convinced that you'll use your intelligence in similar manner, whereas we both know it's not true. He's told you that I'll force you to cross a certain line, but I won't. And for a good reason," he said and frowned. "You may not be Irene Adler _now_ , but you could be, if someone pushed you to. And the thought of creating another Irene repulses me."

"Why? Weren't you two…"

Sherlock turned his head, looking at Victoria sharply.

"…involved?" she finished and cleared her throat, unable to hold his stare without fidgeting.

"Irene could have been the most fascinating woman I have ever met. I found her _stimulating_ , because I couldn't read her. But there is one thing I should have never let myself forget. That The Woman was a _criminal_. And I have sworn to catch those. Not to create them."

Victoria let out a deep breath. She wasn't even aware that she'd been holding it for quite a while now, but listening to Sherlock talk about the one forbidden subject was… Well, _intense_. Even if she had come here with the intent of getting him to answer her questions, she didn't really expect him to actually do it, to open up to her. But he did. And now, she had to return the gesture and trust _him._

"I kind of look like her," she breathed out and Sherlock's eyes started to wander about her face, making Victoria truly uncomfortable. "Is that why you started to pay attention to me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Miss Adler's looks have never been a crucial factor in our acquaintanceship," he snorted and rolled his eyes. "The concept of beauty poses no relevance to me."

"But you've noticed."

"Of course I've noticed," Sherlock answered and frowned.

"It isn't why you've asked me to be your assistant, though," Victoria said, trying mostly to convince herself that her words were –indeed- true.

"No, it isn't."

Just like that, her muscles relaxed and a giant weight was lifted from her shoulders. She smiled with content and watched as Sherlock did the same thing.

"I'm glad we've settled that," she said and sighed. "It was driving me crazy."

"Yes, I believe I've noticed that as well."

Victoria rolled her eyes and shook her head in amusement. Sherlock and his constant need to show off. Even in such a moment, he couldn't stop himself from smiling smugly and looking at her with self-satisfaction.

"I have one more question, though," she said, ignoring his _glow_. "My past. If you don't know anything about it, why aren't you asking?"

Sherlock's smile disappeared, leaving his face completely void of emotions. His gaze was focused on Victoria's face, but it wasn't nearly as intense as it had been before. It felt almost like he looked _through_ her, burying himself in his own mind in search for answers.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, he said:

"I don't know."

And she felt shivers running up her spine.

* * *

"I can't solve it."

Sherlock's voice sounded completely hollow, which surprised so much that she raised her gaze to look at him. He sat in the armchair, staring at his joined fingers, seemingly unaware of the surroundings. Victoria didn't even think he'd noticed her presence in the apartment, because from the moment she'd entered the room, he had been sitting in complete silence.

She wasn't even supposed to be here, but Mrs Hudson asked her to come. Apparently, Sherlock refused to eat anything and that state lasted for the most part of the week. Victoria honestly couldn't say that she was _happy_ about being summoned to feed a fully-grown man, but Mrs Hudson had an unbelievable charisma. Besides, it had been a while since she'd last seen Sherlock. They hadn't talked much since _that_ day, which was starting to really bother her.

"And I can't cook for _shit_ ," she snorted, gathering her wits. Victoria stirred the soup, sniffing it with suspicion. It smelled strangely good, which was even more surprising than hearing Sherlock talk. "I'd offer my help, but if _you_ can't solve it, I doubt it would make any difference."

Holmes stood up and faced the wall that was basically covered in different pictures. It was one of those things about Sherlock, which she truly admired. He could stare at the wall _all day_ , trying to find connections where everyone failed to see them, and he did that only by looking at scraps of paper. For her, those photos meant nothing; they were like a labyrinth of clues, one hidden under the other. She didn't have the ability to uncover every single one of them in a matter of minutes, or even hours.

Sherlock knew that, but he still turned around and walked up to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her in front of the wall. Victoria tried to ignore the fact that he had willingly _touched her,_ focusing her gaze on the images instead. They really didn't mean anything to her, but admitting it out loud didn't sit well with her.

"I don't know anything about the case," she murmured quietly, fully aware of the fact that Sherlock hadn't moved away completely. He, on the other hand, probably wasn't aware that he stood awfully close to her. Victoria wanted to roll her eyes at his –once again- oblivious behaviour. She wanted, but the sudden tension in her shoulders stopped her. "Walk me through."

And he did. He talked with passion and eagerness, while Victoria listened cautiously, trying to catch every single detail of the crime. It was hard to stay focused, when her mind wanted to stray away, and simply admire the way his brain worked. His thoughts seemed chaotic, rushed even. He jumped from one conclusion to another, like it was the simplest thing on Earth. It _affected_ her in more ways, than it was supposed to, but she couldn't really blame herself. Because his mind was like a beautiful thunderstorm; it was wild, untamed, and yet so perfectly organised.

"How can you kill someone without a weapon, or without _any_ means to do it?" he finally asked, and Victoria frowned trying to focus on the pictures. She took a step forward, looking at a photo of the Guardsman named Bainbridge. Apparently, he was stabbed in the shower, which technically couldn't have been possible.

"Maybe he got stabbed earlier? Before he got into the shower?" she said, without conviction in her voice, and Sherlock snorted mockingly in response.

"How, Victoria? Do you think someone would be able to stab him, while he was on duty?" Sherlock asked and walked up to the couch abruptly. She could still smell a faint scent of his cologne, but somehow, breathing became much easier.

"I don't know." She shrugged in response and turned around to look at him. "There really is no explanation, huh?"

"There _must be_ an explanation. We're just too blind to see it," Sherlock replied and frowned. "What is that smell?"

Victoria sniffed a couple of times, but she failed to pick up anything suspicious. Just Sherlock's cologne, mixed with a mouth-watering aroma of the soup she was cooking. Oh. The soup. He was probably so engulfed with his case that he failed to notice anything else.

"Mrs Hudson asked me to feed you," she said and rolled her eyes. "I've made you a soup."

"So that's why you're here."

"Why else would I be?"

"I've texted you."

Victoria snorted in amusement and headed towards the kitchen. Sherlock definitely texted her, except he'd done that at least an hour after she'd arrived at Baker Street.

"I was already here, Sherlock," she informed him, and dipped the spoon into the soup, tasting it. Victoria half-expected to want to vomit afterwards, but it really didn't taste that bad. Actually, it was pretty good.

"I don't eat when I'm on a case. It…"

"Slows you down, I know." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "For all I care, you can starve, but poor Mrs Hudson is really worried about you. Besides, maybe you need to take a break. Don't you have a stag night to plan?"

"I've already done that. There's just one small detail to take care of. What, I believe, we're going to do now." Sherlock appeared in the doorway, taking off his dressing gown, which fell to the floor. "We need to see Molly."

"We?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and sending him a look full of surprise. "Why does it have to do with me?"

"Absolutely nothing. But since you're already here, you might as well accompany me to St. Bart's. Besides, it is much closer to your apartment than Baker Street."

Victoria sighed, knowing that yet again she would go with him, instead of just saying _no_. She was curious to see the reason for Sherlock's need to see Molls. The girl was a registrar, not a party planner. Why did he even want to talk to her about the stag night?

Oh, and there was also the fact that she didn't want him to insult the poor girl _again_. He wasn't even aware of his rudeness most of the time, but Molly _was._ She was stupid enough to fall for Sherlock and even if she claimed to have moved on, not all of the feelings for the consulting detective were gone. Her reaction to Holmes' insults only proved it.

"Fine, I'll go," she stated. "But not before you eat your soup."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked up to her, grabbing the spoon from her hand and tasting the dish.

"This is highly unhygienic," Victoria muttered, watching the spoon that was currently in Sherlock's mouth.

"You mean the soup?" he asked and frowned slightly.

"No, I mean _you_ eating from the same spoon as _me_."

"Oh, please," he mocked and went back for another taste. "You're not opposed to the idea of _kissing_ , but you find this unhygienic?"

"Yeah well, I wasn't planning on kissing _you_ , Sherlock," she said and he froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth. Suddenly, the atmosphere became awkward and she wanted to smack herself for coming up with such a ridiculous line. Finally, after a moment of tensed silent, Sherlock ate the soup and put the spoon down.

"I'm opposed to the idea, as well," he stated and looked at her. "I consider myself married to my work."

There was also the fact that he compared love to _death_ , and marriage to murder. She wanted to mock him, but kept her mouth shut, deciding that she wasn't ready to discuss those subjects with him. Not when her mind refused to forget about those _little details_ about Sherlock that she actually considered enticing.

"Great. How's the soup?" she asked instead and gestured to the pot with the simmering liquid inside.

"Surprisingly tasty. I thought you couldn't cook for shit."

"Yeah, well. You can still end up poisoned."

"Mm, pretty sure I won't," he said and moved away from the stove. "Come on, we have to get going. Molly might be spending an awful amount of time in hospital, but she's not living there. As of yet, at least."

"Wait, you cannot think that eating two spoons counts as an entire meal, can you?" Victoria frowned and Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"We can grab something to eat later. The soup will still be here tomorrow."

Just like that, he had left the kitchen, leaving her behind. Victoria wanted to roll her eyes at him, but she didn't see the point with him already gone and –probably- halfway to the exit. She knew that she had to follow him if she didn't want to pay for the cab herself, which certainly was the case.

"Victoria!" he roared from downstairs. "It's not the time for laziness!"

"I'm coming!" she yelled back and left the kitchen, shaking her head.

What a life she had. What a life indeed.

* * *

"Murder scenes?" Molly asked with a look of pure disbelief painted on her face. Actually, Victoria couldn't really blame her for it. Sherlock's idea had been _ridiculous_ , but she wasn't going to ruin the fun. "Locations of… murders?"

"Mm, pub crawl –themed," Sherlock answered, keeping his hands entwined behind his back. He looked awfully pleased with himself, and Victoria decided that she rather enjoyed the baffled expression on Molly's face upon seeing him in such a state.

"Yeah, but why-why can't you just do Underground stations?"

It was actually a good idea. If someone wanted to have the most _boring_ stag night in the entire world. Victoria smiled lightly and rocked back and forth on her feet. Boy, Molls could be so sweet sometimes.

"Lacks the personal touch. We're going to go for a drink in every street where we…"

"…found a corpse. Delightful," the registrar stated and sent Victoria a slightly disturbed look, to with she responded with a grin. Actually, Radcliffe was pretty sure that observing Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes in those pubs would be _hilarious_. They didn't look like the best drinkers in the world. "Where do I come in?"

"Don't want to get ill. That would ruin it. Spoil the mood."

"You're a graduate chemist. Can't you just work it out?"

"I lack the _practical_ experience."

Victoria covered her eyes with her hand, knowing that Molly would _not_ take that comment easily.

"Sherlock wants to say that he appreciates your skills, Molls," she joined their conversation for the first time, offering Sherlock a meaningful look that somehow escaped his attention. Obviously.

"I think he means that I like a drink." Molly didn't sound exactly pleased with the idea, but the faint blush on her cheeks said it all. She kind of _did_ like a drink.

"Occasionally," Sherlock answered, but the registrar had no intentions of believing him.

"That I'm a drunk!"

"No!" Both Victoria and Sherlock protested, though Victoria sounded much more sincere than the consulting detective. He must have caught that, because he smiled prettily and repeated: "No!" He blinked a couple of times and found something relatively neutral to say. "You look… well."

"I am." Molly's tone seemed innocent, just as her smile, but Victoria knew that she was seething with anger inside.

"How's…" Sherlock looked to the side, glancing at Victoria, clearly expecting her to help him. It was kind of fun watching him struggle to find that name in his mind, but she didn't want Molly to _kill him_ , so she whispered Molly's fiancé's name underneath her breath, and Sherlock caught up immediately. "…Tom?"

"Not a sociopath."

Wow, that was a _great way_ to describe someone, Victoria thought with amusement, watching Sherlock's fake smile.

"Still? Good."

"And we're having quite a lot of sex."

Just like that, the tension appeared out of thin air, as Sherlock's eye started to flicker between Molly and Victoria, making _both_ of them uncomfortable. Talking about anything even remotely sexual with Sherlock present in the room felt… weird. It was like talking about that stuff in presence of a kid –someone without even the slightest idea of what pure passion looked like. He'd probably never felt it. Victoria doubted that he had even seen it. He was innocent in some ways. Strangely enough, she found it both awkward and fascinating. And it was _not_ the time to think about that.

"Okay," the man said and took out a folder full of papers from his coat, putting in on the table. "I want you to calculate John's ideal intake, and mine, to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening. Light-headed, good…"

"Urinating in wardrobes, bad," Molly finished for him, deciding that it was probably for the best to just change subject and focus on Sherlock's idea.

Idea, which was completely _bonkers._ Victoria really had to fight the urge to mock Sherlock and his inability to simply _have fun_ , but the man looked so pleased with himself that she found herself unable to kill his plans. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, actually? God knew, she could use some more of that 'light-headed goodness' and less of that 'urinating in wardrobes badness'. Okay, so maybe she had never actually urinated in a wardrobe, but some of the things she'd done were _bad_ , running around on campus _naked_ being one of them.

"This is going to be such a lovely evening!" She clapped her hands with a smile on her face, while both Sherlock and Molly looked at her simultaneously.

"Are you mocking my plan for the ideal stag night?" Sherlock asked and Victoria shot him a wide grin.

"Nope. You've done the job entirely on your own."

"John will thank me. I'm sure of it."

He really was innocent sometimes. At least when he wasn't busy being a prick.

* * *

 **A/N: Things are getting _intenseeee_ peopleee! And I'm getting more and more excited about this story, although I didn't think it was even possible. **

**Let me know what you think! I'm looking forward to hearing from you! :)**

 **Also, thank you again, KittyBear98 for pointing out the editing mistake I've made in the last chapter. I hope everything is alright now, and that you enjoyed it! :) If not, please tell me :)**

 **As always, thank you for reading and I will see you on the next one! :)**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: This chapter is quite long, but it's also quite important. I've thought a lot about it, wondering if I'm not being cliche, or... well, too dramatic, but a major part of my character and relationship development is based on that exact _breakthrough_ , as one may call it. Anyway, it's important and I've done my best to make it sound realistic. **

**_ShelBell25_ : Thank you for taking the time to read this story! I'm super happy that you enjoy it and I hope that this chapter is not going to change that. **

**And also, to a lovely _Guest_ \- You wanted to know more about Victoria... So there you go! Enjoy and thank you for writing a review! :)**

* * *

This had to be the best day _ever_. Victoria couldn't stop herself from grinning like a crazy person, when she had heard about the stag night and its _hilarious_ outcome. She couldn't wait for mocking Sherlock and his plan for the ideal stag night, because apparently, all it had managed to do, was to get them into a police holding cell.

When Lestrade approached her, saying that one of the desk sergeants had thrown them both in there, she knew she wouldn't miss it, even if it meant procrastinating on her actual duties. She followed Greg downstairs, with a huge grin on her face. It probably made her look like a bloody lunatic, but she didn't really care.

As soon as Greg had managed to convince the sergeant to let Sherlock and John go, they approached the door. Victoria knew that Lestrade had no intentions of acting pleasant. He opened the door and called out in a cheerful, fake voice:

"Wakey-wakey!"

She could hear a groan, coming out of John Watson's mouth, and she snorted with amusement. Apparently, he had spent all night sitting against the wall, while Sherlock lied on the bench, looking… well, quite _dead_. If it wasn't for the slight rise of his chest, she'd start worrying if he was even alive.

"Oh my God," John mumbled, a terrible grimace visible on his face. It seemed that he had no recollection of where he even was. "Greg. Is that Greg?"

Victoria giggled cheerfully and bit her lip, trying to stop herself from simply bursting in laughter. Boy, they really got hammered, if even John wasn't sure of Lestrade's name.

"Get up. I'm gonna put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant," her boss stated and then smiled mockingly, when John climbed to his feet with such an exertion, that Victoria briefly considered helping him. "What a couple of lightweights! You couldn't even make it to closing time!"

"Can you whisper?" John asked, slowly moving towards them. His gaze rested upon Victoria and he nodded in greeting, only to scowl when pain attacked his head with a doubled force.

"NOT REALLY!" Lestrade yelled with a great pleasure, and Victoria's gaze flicked to Sherlock, who opened his eyes abruptly, trying to sit up on the bench. He looked around the cell, with the same sort of bewilderment that had graced John's features a minute ago.

Greg looked at Sherlock with pity and gestured him to get up.

"Come on," he said and left the cell, following into John's footsteps. Painful and _slow_ footsteps, to be precise. Victoria stayed behind, with her arms crossed on the chest, as she watched Sherlock's progress.

He tried to stand up, but the alcohol remaining in his body forced him to sit down again, giving the impression of someone either very drunk, or currently on a rocking boat. He tried again, putting fingers on his temples and balancing his weight on one foot.

"My God, you're so miserable," she chuckled, and Sherlock scowled, still trying to steady himself and find a way out of the cell.

"Shut up," he mumbled, somewhat slurry. To her surprise, he straightened himself and took a step forward, only to stumble into her.

Acting out of pure instinct, she grabbed his shoulders, trying to stop him from falling. His entire weight rested on her much smaller body, pressing her into the wall and making her _very_ uncomfortable. He still smelled vaguely of his perfume, even if the scent got somewhat subdued by cigarette smoke and stale alcohol.

"Wow," she said and grinned at him, trying to forget about how compromising their position was. "You really _are_ a lightweight, Sherlock."

"Shut. Up." His voice sounded so close to her ear that she could feel his warm breath on her skin, but it was only a moment. He took a step back and left the cell, even if somewhat wobbly. She shook her head and followed him, knowing that she would probably laugh at him for a very long time.

John was already at the front desk, when they'd managed to catch up to him. His complexion was grey, with a tiniest hint of _green_ to it.

"Best stag night ever, huh?" Victoria said and clapped John on his back, undoubtedly causing him much pain. She couldn't stop herself from having a bit more fun, before she had to get back to her boring police duties.

"It was… interesting," the man answered and smiled weakly, but Victoria still appreciated the effort. He probably didn't want Sherlock to feel bad. Well, _worse_. John Watson was one of the most caring people on the entire planet, she realised and decided to stop torturing him.

"Good. Although I can't really say that I _expected_ to see you here in such a wonderful state." She glanced at Sherlock, who stood still next to a wall, looking like a statue. Moving probably hurt a lot, but he needed to put on his coat, if he wanted to leave the station. Victoria sighed and took the fabric from the desk, extending her hand towards him. "Need some help?"

"I'm not a child," he spat in response and tore the coat away, making her roll her eyes.

"Yep. You surely don't act like it," she said and shook her head. "Well, gentlemen, I'm glad to know that your day is going to suck more than mine. My duties call, I'm afraid."

John smiled at her, putting an extra effort to make it look genuine, and she really appreciated it.

"Take an aspirin and eat something. You'll be fine. Eventually," she added and turned around to leave.

"Meet me at Baker Street later," Sherlock called after her, but she only smiled to herself and waved him goodbye. She'd never miss such a great chance to tease him. She wouldn't miss it for the world.

* * *

Baker Street was completely silent. Victoria thought she could even hear the ticking of a clock _somewhere_ , and it felt weirdly disturbing. For a brief moment, she wondered if anyone was home, but then she realised that Sherlock wouldn't have texted her a million times to come here, if he had no intentions of meeting her. Probably.

She made it up the stairs and entered Sherlock's place, not bothering with knocking. He had the audacity to break into her apartment on more than few occasions, despite her constant pleas to stop. If he'd seen no problem in violating her privacy, she could at least return some of the favour by walking into his place like she bloody owned it.

To her surprise, Sherlock sat at the desk, in front of his laptop. He certainly looked better than he did in the morning, but she could still see dark circles underneath his eyes, as a reminder of last night's activities. Just as she walked into the room, his gaze travelled to her figure, acknowledging her presence.

"What took you so long?" he asked, returning to… whatever he was doing. "I've texted you hours ago. And don't tell me you were busy, because you've texted me back."

"I've texted you back _once_ and it was to tell you to fuck off," she reminded him with a smile and plopped down on the couch, enjoying its soft surface. God, it felt good to sit on something else than a rock-hard chair.

"Don't know, I haven't read it."

Victoria rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. Why was she even surprised? Sherlock Holmes might have been unpredictable in _some_ areas, but definitely not when it came to polite behaviour. Or the lack of it.

"Why am I here?" she asked, closing her eyes and laying down on the couch. Sherlock stopped typing for a moment, probably looking at her cautiously, but she didn't really care.

"Last night, we had a client," Sherlock stated and Victoria snapped her eyes open. She almost started to giggle at the mere mention of John's stag night, but she stopped herself. The man didn't sound as if he was joking. Actually, something in his voice told her that the client might have been _interesting_.

"Oh. I'm kind of surprised you even remember that," she answered and smiled, earning herself a glare. "Come on, Sherlock. You don't expect me to simply forget about this morning, huh? It was way too hilarious."

"Nothing hilarious about the after-effects of the most terrible and humiliating evening in my life," he stated and frowned.

"If it makes you feel better, we've all had those evenings."

"How is it supposed to make me feel better? Being compared to the rest of the pathetic society feels more like an insult, than anything else."

"I'm going to pretend that you haven't just called me _pathetic_ ," she said sweetly, glaring daggers at him.

"Why? That's precisely what I've done."

"Do you want me to kick you in the nuts, because you've offended me? Or would you rather change the subject and pretend that you've kept you mouth shut?"

"Oh," he said and blinked a couple of times. "I see. I don't think you'd be able to harm me, though. I'm an excellent fighter."

"And I have a gun."

"Which doesn't give you an advantage in a fight with someone like me."

"Like you?" Victoria raised her eyebrows, while Sherlock smiled smugly.

"Someone _brilliant_."

God, he was so full of himself. She couldn't decide if it was more pathetic or annoying. She generally held no respect for people, who loved themselves more than anything else, but in Sherlock's case, things were different. That bloody man had every right to feel _superior_ to everyone. Not that it justified his behaviour, but still… It made her want to grit her teeth.

"Right. Well, Mr Brilliant," she started in a mocking tone. "Why don't you tell me about that client?"

"It was a woman. She had dinner with a ghost."

Victoria blinked, completely dumbfounded and then she burst into laughter. Was he still hammered? Because he sounded completely ridiculous and he _had_ to know that. Her joyous outburst intensified, when she recalled a different case that John described on his blog. _The Hollow Client_. Sherlock was convinced that the empty suit lying on the armchair had been the outcome of combining a complex set of mirrors. Or that it was ninjas' doing. He failed to see the obvious, though; the suit was meant to be a _prank_.

"Can you stop laughing?" Sherlock asked in annoyed voice, and she forced herself to calm down. "The client _obviously_ didn't have a dinner with a ghost. Only someone clever enough to steal the identities of recently deceased people."

Okay, so he wasn't still drunk. Even if that _ghost_ had been clever, Victoria couldn't see the reason for Sherlock's interest in that case. Having dinner with someone was hardly a crime, even if he had gone to extraordinary measures to hide his true identity.

"Has he hurt her?" she asked, frowning slightly, while Sherlock shook his head.

"My client is only one of the women he's chosen. I can't find a decent connection between them, though."

" _You_? Don't tell me there's something that Sherlock Holmes failed to do," she answered and grinned at him playfully, making him roll his eyes. "Fine, tell me everything. Maybe I'll manage to shed some light on that case."

Sherlock started to explain, and Victoria closed her eyes, focusing solely on the words coming out of his mouth. Apparently, it had always looked the same. He asked them out and then offered them a wonderful evening, although it didn't necessarily mean having sex with them. Each of those women described him differently, but they all claimed to have found someone _special_. Special enough to look for him, even after he had failed to contact them again.

"What does John think?" she asked, after Sherlock had finished sharing details of the case with her, and the man snorted mockingly.

"He thinks that our _ghost_ was only looking for a one-night stand," he said and rolled his eyes. He clearly despised the idea of someone acting out of lust, or something relatively _primitive._ Victoria knew that such an event was entirely possible, but in this case, it didn't make much sense to her either.

Why would anyone go to such effort, only to get laid? Not mentioning the fact that he hadn't had sex with each of those woman. He made them feel special, appreciated. He spoke to their wants and needs, gaining their trust. Why? And, more importantly, what _for?_

"It doesn't seem right, does it?" she said and Sherlock snorted.

"Preposterous idea. It could be, of course, plausible, if one could ignore every single detail of this case. Which is, I believe, precisely what John did. He'll probably even _blog_ about it."

Victoria chuckled lightly, hearing Sherlock's outraged tone full contempt.

"Our ghost must have a reason to do all this. Sooner or later, that reason will become clear and John will see his mistake," Victoria shrugged and sat up abruptly. "Do you have any theories?"

"No."

"No?" she said with surprise. "You're Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that, thank you." He smiled falsely and turned around, walking towards his armchair. He moved swiftly, with no residual signs of his hangover.

"Without knowing his true identity, there is no way of telling what he is up to. The only clue we have, is the connection between those women."

"I take they don't look similar," she said, but Sherlock shook his head. "That would make things easier… If he had a fixation on a certain type of women, he'd become predictable."

"I presume that his fixation would manifest itself in something much more _vile_ than just taking those women to dinners," Sherlock stated and scowled. Victoria agreed with him quietly, ignoring goose bumps pricking her skin. She had a pretty good idea of what those manifestations could look like. She worked homicides, for fuck's sake. "He was clearly searching for something…"

"But what for?" she muttered.

"Mm." Sherlock mumbled, and she knew that he had already sunk into his own mind. He stared into the empty space, his eyes occasionally flickering from side to side.

Although he began ignoring her, Victoria felt weirdly satisfied. Sherlock preferred loneliness, especially when he was trying to solve a case. He often required absolute silence and focus, and people tended to distract him. There weren't many people, who could say that Sherlock Holmes _tolerated_ their presence, but apparently, she was one of them.

Maybe it was because she really knew how to be silent, or maybe it was just because they got comfortable around each other. Either way, knowing that out of all people, _she_ was the one to get so close to him, made her feel somewhat proud. Like she accomplished something great. It was ridiculous in a way, but she couldn't help it.

Victoria got up, knowing that it was time to leave Baker Street. Sherlock became unresponsive, and staying here would only be a waste of her time. There was also no point in trying to tell him that she intended to leave, so she opened her bag and took out a pen with a piece of paper. _Let me know if you solved it. -VR_ , she wrote and put it on his laptop. With a smile, she left the place and headed home to get some well-deserved rest.

* * *

"I still haven't finished it."

A voice sounded in her bedroom, making her jump up and reach for her gun instantly. Her sleepy brain was incapable of recognizing it at first, which was perfectly understandable, considering the late -or early- hour. The sun wasn't about to rise for another hour or two, and the only source of light was the moon, which rays pooled into the room through the curtains.

She pointed her gun at a mysterious silhouette, standing at the threshold of her bedroom, only to realise that it was _very_ familiar. Tall, lean, with a very impressive mop of hair –it had to be Sherlock Holmes. Who else could have _broken into her apartment again_ , in the middle of the night, without absolutely no remorse?

"You have three seconds to explain yourself, before I shoot you," she stated, her voice croaky from not being used for some time.

"I still haven't finished my Best Man's speech," Sherlock answered, completely untouched by her threat. Victoria opened her mouth in disbelief and slowly lowered the gun. Her heart was still racing, while she struggled to slow down her breathing, but the words that came out of Sherlock's mouth did _not_ make things easier.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes, of course. It's three in the morning," he answered calmly, making her exhale sharply.

"I was _sleeping,_ Sherlock. That's what normal people do at such an hour. They're not waiting for you to show up, just so they could help you write a fucking speech," Victoria informed him and rubbed her eyes. They were stinging, probably from the abrupt awakening.

"Which is why I woke you up. Hurry, there's no time to waste," he stated and turned around, leaving her bedroom. Victoria clenched her gun tightly, briefly considering shooting him anyway, but she decided against it. She didn't fancy going to prison, not even because of someone so bloody annoying.

"Victoria!" he yelled from her living room, when she failed to follow him. She gritted her teeth and rolled out of bed, feeling chilled to the bone. Thank God, she never slept naked, cause things would get _very awkward_. Not that her short bottoms and a flimsy t-shirt made situation much better, but it was still better than nothing. Victoria grabbed an oversized jumper from her wardrobe, put it on, and left her bedroom.

To her surprise, Holmes wasn't in the living room, making her fuzzy brain positively confused. It took her a minute to notice the light, pooling into the room from the kitchen. What on Earth was he doing there? Slowly, she walked into the kitchen and found him _making tea_.

"What are you doing?" she asked, quite stupidly at that, which became obvious when Sherlock offered her a pitiful glance.

"Tea, _obviously_."

"I'm fairly surprised that you know how to do that," she mumbled and sat at the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes again. They simply wouldn't stop stinging.

"I've managed to master a wide variety of difficult skills. Making tea is quite simple in comparison."

Victoria looked at him, as he poured the steaming liquid into two cups. He must have left his coat in the living room, because he was now standing only in his shirt and slacks. _No jacket_ , she noticed, realising that she now had an unobstructed view of his bottom. A very nice looking bottom.

She stopped leaning on her elbow, suddenly very much awake. Her brain really needed to wake up, because those thoughts were becoming dangerous _very quickly_. It was one thing to notice his brilliance and be enthralled by it, but admitting to find him physically attractive was completely out of question.

"Why couldn't it wait till morning?" Victoria mumbled, desperate to take her mind off of… well, his ass.

"Sleep is a massive waste of time." Sherlock's reply made her roll her eyes with annoyance.

"No, it isn't, Holmes. Humans need sleep to _function_. The fact that you don't need it, only proves that you're not human."

He turned around with two cups in his hands and a fake smile plastered to his face.

"Oh, but I've made you tea, _Vicky_ ," he said sweetly and stopped smiling abruptly, returning to his normal bored expression.

"You're such a sweetheart, _Sherl_ ," she replied in similar manner and watched disgust show up on his face.

"Don't ever call me that, it's truly appalling."

"You deserve it, mister. I do not like to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Especially not by someone, who broke into my apartment. _Again_ ," she sighed and shook her head. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?"

"Considering that it doesn't really work, you could probably just stop it altogether," he said and took a sip of his tea.

To think that she could have shot him… What a missed opportunity.

"Why did you even come here?" Victoria mumbled and placed her hands on the cup, trying to warm them up. "I'm probably the worst person to help you with that damned speech."

Sherlock put his tea down and looked at her intently.

"You seem to be perfectly able to grasp the idea of a wedding. You even participated in planning several aspects of that truly horrible event."

"Only because you wouldn't stop bugging me," she explained and sighed once again. "Look, do you know how many weddings I've attended? _None_. I hate those things."

"I was under the impression that you rather supported marriage." He blinked, clearly surprised, and Victoria snorted in amusement.

"Marriage? Yeah. Weddings? Not so much," she said and frowned. "They cost _a lot_ of money, you're supposed to invite people you mostly dislike, just because they're your family, and most importantly, you constantly worry about everything, instead of enjoying that special day. Where's the fun in that?"

"So you dislike your family?" he asked, ignoring everything else she'd just said, and she looked at him with disbelief.

"I've never seen most of those people anyway. How can I like them?"

"What about your parents?"

Victoria looked away instantly and clenched her teeth. Sherlock must have noticed her reaction, but she simply couldn't control it. Some things were just too difficult to hide.

"It's safe to say that I have no feelings for them," she said quietly. "I haven't spoken to them in years."

"Are they dead?" Sherlock asked again, forcing Victoria to face him. He looked interested, maybe a bit agitated even, but for some reason, he tried to refrain from a pronounced reaction. Did he think it would scare her away?

"They are alive. I think. Well, my mother most definitely is. I couldn't care less for my father."

"Why?"

"Because he was a terrible father and a terrible human being. Was, is… I guess it doesn't even matter."

"Has he hurt you?"

Victoria bit her bottom lip, as memories flooded her mind, increasing her heart rate and making her palms sweaty, all of a sudden. She didn't want to think about him. She didn't want to talk about him. Her entire life would be better if she could just erase those memories completely. But she couldn't, and a part of her knew that Sherlock deserved to know the truth, that he somehow earned the right, when he chose not to pester her about everything. Maybe he didn't know _why_ he had made such a decision, but she still appreciated it.

"No," she answered and ruffled her hair. "No, it was never me."

"Who then?"

"My brother. He was the only one to protect me." Victoria smiled weakly and started to fidget with her fingers.

"Your mother?"

"Did absolutely nothing. She was probably too afraid."

"Is that why you hate women?" he asked and Victoria sighed with annoyance.

"For the last time, I don't hate them! I just wish we could be stronger. I wish we could protect our loved ones, without the fear of getting hurt. It has nothing to do with hatred."

"But you resent…"

"The only thing I resent is that some of us prefer to watch their loved ones getting hurt, because of _fear_ ," she interrupted and shook her head. "I can't stand the idea of letting anyone harm your family, because of your selfishness and cowardice."

Sherlock didn't answer and took another sip of his tea. It had probably gone cold now, but the conversation proved to be stimulating enough to make them forget about it. Victoria didn't know, if she wanted to continue talking about her past though. She didn't know if she even _could_ do it, so she simply waited for Sherlock to ask another question.

"Why are you afraid of darkness?" he finally said and she smiled bitterly. Out of all the questions, he chose the _perfect_ one. She shouldn't have been surprised, not really, but a part of her wished he could make a mistake, just this once.

The words were already spoken, though, and Victoria knew she couldn't lie. He would see through it in a heartbeat. She would describe herself as a pretty good liar, but in such a moment, her skills didn't matter. The walls, which normally protected her from everyone, disappeared, leaving her completely vulnerable. She couldn't hide anymore.

"Do you know that eliminating one sense, strengthens the remaining ones? When you cannot see a thing, your hearing catches up on things it normally wouldn't," she started and closed her eyes, letting her memories take over. She could even smell the mothballs and the scent of old clothes. "My father never wanted me. It was a weird sensation to grow up, feeling as if your father disliked you, hated you even. I was just a kid, so I couldn't understand anything, but he loved to punish me for things that were seemingly innocent. The older I got, the more violent he became. And when he hit me for the first time… My brother told me to hide, whenever he would try to do that again. So I did. I ran away and hid in the wardrobe."

She glanced at Sherlock, only to find him studying her face cautiously. For once, he didn't look smug, or bored, and it somehow gave her strength to continue.

"My brother distracted him whenever he could. He took a beating after beating, and I sat in my wardrobe, listening to his cries and screams. There was a time, when I could hear those sounds, whenever I closed my eyes. I couldn't sleep with my lights off…"

"You still can't, can you?" Sherlock asked and she felt her cheeks warming up. "The lamp in your bedroom has a timer. It switches off after an hour, if I'm correct."

"Yes. I… It's easier that way," she admitted reluctantly and frowned.

"What happened to your brother?"

Victoria took a deep breath and tried to hold back the tears, that had started to form in her eyes, but it was literally impossible. She hated crying in general, but she hated it even more, when it happened in company of others. Sherlock's _especially_.

"Well. He's dead, so nothing good," Victoria said and hid her face in her hands. "Turns out, there's only so much that you can take…"

"Your father killed him?"

"It was a combination of things actually. My father _and_ drugs."

Sherlock shifted slightly and Victoria looked at him with a mocking smile. She wasn't _dumb_. Figuring out that someone as brilliant as him would venture towards the only substances that could either dampen his senses, or heighten them, was a child's play. It was still weird to see him _anxious_.

"My brother started using to escape from that fucked up reality we had to live in. I can't really blame him. I'd probably do the same thing, if I was older. I used to be angry with him for getting himself in that mess, but not anymore… No one helped him. No one even believed that our father was hurting him."

"No one noticed?"

"My father was a doctor. It's pretty easy to hurt someone, when you know so much about human body," she explained and scowled. "It took a lot of time for him to just stop caring, whether someone would notice. My brother already started doing drugs by then, so no one really paid attention to his words anymore."

Sherlock noticed that she wasn't going to continue on her own, so he shifted in his chair and said:

"So what happened?"

"My brother came back home so high, that he could barely talk. Father was furious, so he started to beat him. Except he didn't stop. I heard screams, cries, and then nothing… Complete silence," she answered and clenched her fists. "It was never like that. Usually, he would stop hitting him, but he never stopped yelling. The _pattern_ was suddenly broken, so I ran downstairs and found my father standing over my brother's body, completely motionless. He noticed me after a second, and must have realised that I already knew what happened. I wasn't _that_ little. He wanted to make sure I wasn't going to tell a soul about what really took place. So I did what my brother told me to do, if my father ever found me in that wardrobe. I grabbed something sharp and stabbed him."

"I don't even remember all of it. I acted on impulse. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was fear. I don't know what it was, but it gave me the chance to run away and hide. When I came back, there was no sign of my father anywhere. All that was left, was my brother's body; bloodied and cold. I remember hugging him, I remember crying for hours, until my mother returned home from work and found me on the floor, covered in blood and tears."

Sherlock stayed silent, but she could sense his tension and eagerness to ask questions. His eyes shone bright with excitement, as he undoubtedly managed to connect the missing dots already.

"I take it they have never found your father," he said after a while and she shook her head.

"No. They haven't. Not that they were looking too hard. All they had was a statement of a little girl, and her mother, who knew nothing about the events of that night. She wasn't even aware of half of the beating my brother went through. Father was careful not to do that in front of her."

"But she knew."

"Yeah. She did," Victoria nodded and smiled bitterly. "It was easier to pretend, though. Easier to do nothing. Like I said, she was probably afraid that this horror would extend to her."

Sherlock looked at her with a puzzled expression. She knew that it had nothing to do with compassion, or even tiniest bit of empathy. No… The question that was about to leave his mouth, would be dry and professional. Victoria may have started talking to another human being, but now… Now she was looking at world's only _consulting detective_.

"Why weren't you looking for him? Unlike some other policemen I've had the displeasure to work with, you're quite competent."

She sighed and sent him a bitter gaze.

"I was a kid. If it wasn't for years of therapy, I'd probably become a fucked-up weirdo. After years of trying to _deal_ with all this, of trying to put it behind me… I just don't want to find him."

"He's a killer."

"He's also my biggest fear, Sherlock," Victoria said and clenched her fists.

"All the more reason to face him."

He clearly had already set his mind on something. Talking to him and trying to influence his way of thinking, was utterly pointless, even if a part of her wanted him to _understand_.

"It's called the _past_ for a reason, Holmes," she finally said, surprised at how cold her voice sounded. "I don't want to go back."

"Why?" he asked, completely bewildered. She could tell by the pink hue on his cheeks that he was excited. Sherlock looked like someone had just offered him an early Christmas gift, and she wanted nothing else than just to end this conversation.

He might have deserved to know all this, after he'd protected her from Mycroft, but… She also deserved something; she deserved to be treated like a human being, with the ability to actually _feel_. She wasn't another one of his clients. It wasn't a _game_. It was her life and it should have had a bigger meaning.

"Because my childhood was _hell_. You may be surprised to hear that, but I'm not a _sociopath_ , or worse, a psychopath. I don't consider sentiment a weakness, just as I'm not ashamed of feeling," she said angrily and frowned. "I choose my sanity, over solving a _mystery_."

"What kind of a police officer chooses to let a killer run around, possibly hurting other people?" Sherlock asked and stood up, beginning to pace. "He committed a crime and he _needs_ to be punished for it."

"Don't pretend that you care so much for the law," she mocked him. "It's never about that, not with you."

"Of course it isn't!" He yelled, stopping abruptly. His eyes were wild, just like his grin. "There are so many unanswered questions! How did he manage to escape? How did he manage to blend in? How…"

"Stop!" Victoria stood up and slammed her hands against the table. "He's killed my brother, you fucking prick! He ruined my childhood, he was a _monster_ and he deserves to rot in hell! We're not talking about _fucking_ weather. I won't let you get off on something that has left me traumatised and broken! I don't want to find him, because I'm afraid I'd _kill_ him with my bare hands, after days of torturing him with the most vile methods the humanity has ever created! And he's not worth it. I won't let him ruin the rest of my life!"

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, slowly getting back to his normal, emotionless self. She tried to calm her own breath, but it was hard to stop her hands from shaking. God, she needed a cigarette. She really fucking needed one.

"Don't look for him, Sherlock," Victoria asked quietly, studying his face. "I mean it."

"You know that I can't do such thing," he answered calmly, making her smile bitterly.

"Then I guess you can rot in hell as well."

She turned around and left, slamming the door behind her. Looking at him was too much right now. Even being in his vicinity made her want to scream. Victoria felt so stupid for even allowing herself to think that _maybe_ , just maybe, he was capable of being human. She was _proud_ of getting close to him. For fuck's sake, she'd even begun to think that his social awkwardness was amusing sometimes.

It wasn't. In everyday life, it might have been tolerable, but it was times like this, when one could see his sociopathic nature. Sherlock Holmes was an addict, getting off on every single mystery he could find. He didn't care about anything, apart from getting his _fix_. Even if it meant hurting someone else in the process. Even if it meant throwing them back into hell they've barely managed to escape.

Victoria Radcliffe could do a lot of things, but she'd never allow someone else to break her again. Not even if that person was Sherlock Holmes –the most brilliant and mesmerising man she'd ever met.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello there everyone! Here I am, with this super long chapter! I think I always say that it's _important_ , but... I think that's what happens when you're trying to avoid fillers. **

**Anyways, I want to answer your REVIEWS, before we get to it.**

 _ **Marianagmt:**_ **I'm really happy that you enjoy my story! I've spent a lot of time thinking about Victoria's personality, because I didn't want her to be this genius, who just sweeps Sherlock away from his feet. Just like you said -it's not very realistic. I'm glad that I've managed to do it quite alright! :) Also, you wanted to see more 'blending'. Well, here it goes! :) I hope you'll enjoy it.**

 _ **Gilyflower:**_ **There's no Anderson in this chapter, but you're totally right! He seems like someone, who would become the greatest shipper of this relationship. I honestly think he'll show up some other time, just to get excited and create some interesting 'theories' that will haunt Victoria for a long time. Thanks for reading and I hope you'll enjoy the chapter! :)**

 _ **SpirouFr:**_ **You're welcome :)**

 **Also, guys! Please don't skip my note at the end. I want to make something clear, but I don't want to spoil the chapter for you beforehand :) Enjoy!**

* * *

The day was beautiful. Victoria learned to cherish every single moment of sunshine and warmth, because it didn't happen often in the UK. Especially not during this summer, which turned out to be surprisingly gloomy. But today, on 10th of August, the weather looked promising enough to make her excited about going to work, at least for once.

She was on her way to the Yard, when Lestrade called and told her about a new case, only confirming her earlier hunch. Victoria smiled to herself and told the cabbie to change the route. It took her a lot of time to get to the scene, but even before she'd arrived, she could tell that it was going to be a difficult case. That's how it usually went with crimes that happened in such a bad neighbourhood. Drugs, gangs… None of those made things easier for the detectives.

Victoria thanked the cabbie and paid for the ride. She wasn't even surprised to see that the victim was lying in the middle of the sidewalk, as it was a pretty common sight in this area. What surprised her, was the lack of blood on the scene.

"Hey, Lestrade," she said, frowning slightly. Her gaze was focused on the victim, as she tried to decipher the cause of death. She could see that the body belonged to a young man -poor, judging by his dirty, ripped clothing. He was lying on his back, but she didn't see any signs of struggle. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Well, definitely better than this lad over here." He pointed to the body and scowled. "It looks like he OD'd."

Victoria scanned the crime scene and her frown deepened. There were no signs of struggle, but it was a weird place to do drugs. Bad neighbourhood or not, it was still quite risky to get high in the open space. It seemed very unlikely that he would manage to get far from his drug den, and even if that really was the case, he wouldn't have fallen backwards without hurting himself.

"Or someone _made_ him OD," she muttered to Lestrade and the DI looked at her with cautious. Victoria explained her theory to him, watching his expression change into a thoughtful one. Finally, he nodded and crouched down next to the body.

"Okay, so we cannot rule out the involvement of someone else. But why would anyone want to kill him like that? In this neighbourhood, it's a rather unnecessary effort. It feels almost personal."

"Maybe it was. We won't know until we get the autopsy results back. Maybe it wasn't an overdose," she said, lacking any conviction. "I assume we don't have any witnesses?"

"No. Our officers found the body when they were patrolling the streets," Lestrade said and sighed.

Victoria looked around, trying to find if there was another way to find out what happened, but she couldn't see any cameras. They had nothing.

"We have to find his identity. Maybe it will point us in some direction. I'll take care of it," she said and smiled at Lestrade. "You should probably go home and check if you have everything ready for John's wedding. It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yes. They knew which date to pick. It finally stopped raining." Greg smiled and stood up. "Are you sure you can handle everything on your own?"

"Sure, Greg. Besides, Donovan can help me."

"You know that she dislikes you."

"I said she _can_ help me. I didn't say she will," Victoria laughed, making Lestrade chuckle as well.

"I'll tell her to do it. The least I can do."

"Don't worry about it."

"Alright then," he said and checked his phone. "Wrap up the scene. I need to pick up my suit from the dry-cleaning."

"Don't tell me you're going in one of your work suits," Victoria almost moaned, but Lestrade seemed genuinely surprised.

"Why not? Is something wrong with them?"

He could be such a dork sometimes.

"No, Greg. It's just that I thought you would go in something… fancier."

"I'm not going to buy a new suit just for the wedding," he said and looked at her as if she had just grown a second head. "Besides, I don't think anyone will pay attention to my suit, when Sherlock is supposed to give a speech."

Victoria tried not to show her discomfort at the mention of the consulting detective. She hadn't talked to him since _that_ night. No texts, calls, or unsuspected visits. She was actually glad that Sherlock decided to refrain from contacting her, because it certainly made things easier. At least she had no motivation to break her resolve of staying the fuck away from him. It was clear that he would never stop, until he had found her father, and she didn't want to watch that process. She didn't even want to _know_ about it, but it was already too late for that.

"Yeah, he'll probably steal your spotlight," Victoria answered and smiled forcefully. Lestrade looked at her, trying to decide whether he should say something. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Is everything okay? I got used to seeing you with Sherlock. I was about to yell at him for stealing one of my best detectives," he said and she looked away with a scowl. What was she supposed to say? That she decided to let herself hope that Holmes would know how to respect her privacy? That she was naïve enough to think he would act like a decent human being?

"Sherlock doesn't really understand what respect is. Not when it comes to someone else's privacy. Until that changes, I have nothing to say to him," she explained and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's not like he needs me."

"But you might need him sometimes," Greg pointed out, but Victoria only smiled.

"I've been doing pretty good before he came back from the dead. I'll be fine. There are much more important things, than having perfect statistics."

"If you'd like to talk about something…" he offered, somewhat embarrassed, and her smile got even bigger.

"Thank you. You're a great guy, Greg. And a great friend," she said and patted him on his shoulder. "Which is why I know I'm going to be fine, with or without Sherlock. You always have my back anyway."

She could tell by his grin that her words meant a lot to him. Victoria had never fully understood Lestrade's wife, who preferred to cheat on him, rather than appreciate the man she'd married. Sure, life with a detective could be demanding, but Greg had never stopped to care. He was sweet and loyal, and he deserved to be happy.

"You should go pick that suit up," she said and tilted her head. "Who knows, maybe you'll find a nice lady at the wedding?"

Greg looked away, blushing slightly and making Victoria look at him with surprise. _Interestin_ g. Lestrade rarely got this flustered, which meant that either he had hoped for finding someone there, or that he'd already done it.

"Maybe. Yes, well… Who knows right? The chances aren't good, but… Um. Yeah."

"If not, you can always dance with Molly. I'm sure Tom won't mind," she joked and watched his blush go deeper.

 _Oh, my, God,_ she thought, trying to stop herself from staring at him with her mouth wide open. Greg Lestrade _liked_ Molly Hooper. Greg and Molly. Molly and Greg. How did that happen? And what exactly _had happened_? Molly was engaged, after all. She wasn't exactly the type to walk around and cheat on her fiancé. What was going on?!

"Um. Yeah. I guess I can. Or not. Probably a good idea, though."

Victoria had so many questions, but she stopped herself from saying anything. Greg might have felt something for the registrar, but it certainly couldn't be an easy situation. She didn't want to ruin anything by being nosy. Both of them were grown-ups, they could handle their own problems. She couldn't stop herself from thinking that they would be rather cute together. Probably the weirdest couple ever, but… Maybe it could actually work?

Either way, it wasn't her business. Victoria was happy with just watching them from a distance.

"Have fun, Greg. Give the newlyweds my best wishes and send me a photo," she said and patted him on the shoulder again. She turned around and walked away, to wrap up the crime scene and get back to work.

She had a long day ahead of her.

* * *

Victoria couldn't say she wasn't surprised that Molly Hooper decided to ask for her help. The registrar was a sweet girl, always nice and polite, even if a bit awkward at times. Radcliffe couldn't even say why they weren't friends, because Molls had definitely struck her as a person, who could bring a lot of light and airiness into her life. Maybe the reason for their warm, but not-so-close relationship, was their busy schedules, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that one of them was engaged and the other wasn't. It was harder to find the time to socialise, when someone was waiting for you at home.

Either way, Victoria decided that none of the reasons mattered. When Molly had called her, saying that her beautician had cancelled the appointment the day before the wedding, the detective knew that she just couldn't say no. She wasn't an expert when it came to make-up, or hairdressing, but she certainly knew enough to help a girl out.

Victoria arrived at Molly's apartment and knocked on the door, surprised that it took only a second for it to open. Apparently, the registrar couldn't wait for her arrival, and that fact made Victoria smile warmly at the girl in front of her.

"Hey, Molls. I'm not late, am I?" she asked, stepping inside the apartment, encouraged by Molly's gesture.

Her entire place had turned into a one, huge wardrobe, as clothes were lying everywhere, making Victoria dizzy with all the colours and different textures. She would have never guessed that someone as subdued as Molly Hooper would own so many clothes.

"No, not at all!" the registrar said and shook her head. "I'm so glad you agreed to help me. I had no one else to ask. My friend is busy today, so she couldn't do it."

"Don't worry about it. I usually don't have the time to doll-up, but I kind of like playing with make-up." She waved her hand dismissively and looked around the room one more time, only to spot Tom, who was sitting on the couch and trying not to look completely horrified by the chaos surrounding him. "Hi, Tom."

God, it was so hard not to notice his resemblance to Sherlock. Maybe his face wasn't all that similar, since he definitely lacked Holmes' bone structure and none of his features caught the eye in the same way that Sherlock's did. The the way he styled his hair and the way he dressed, though… It almost made her think that Molly had searched the entire country just to find someone, who would look just like the consulting detective.

Victoria smiled at the man, ignoring her own discomfort, but she couldn't stop herself from looking away. Thinking about Sherlock wasn't the best idea right now. She couldn't waste the entire morning on brooding. Not when Molly counted on her.

"Hello, Victoria," Tom answered, glancing at his fiancé. "Babe, would you mind if I went out for a bit? All of this is making my head spin," he added and glanced at Molly hopefully.

The registrar nodded ad smiled, but Victoria couldn't stop herself from thinking that she looked almost relieved. Her fiancé probably wasn't much of a help. He certainly didn't seem like the type, who could be resolute enough to make a useful remark.

A minute later, he was dressed in his Sherlock-like coat, kissing Molly goodbye, while Victoria tried not to pay attention to that intimate moment. She wasn't really a fan of showing that kind of affection with other people watching, but she could respect that not everyone had to share her view on the matter. It didn't stop her from feeling uncomfortable, though. She started to walk around the room, looking at all the dresses picked out by Molls.

Molly's style was… something. Victoria couldn't find a single piece she would like to wear, but she could definitely picture the registrar in every one of them. They were colourful girly, and they lacked the classic elegance that Victoria was used to. She preferred simplicity and those dresses picked out by Molly were _not_ simple.

When the door closed behind Tom, Victoria glanced at the registrar, only to find her standing in the middle of the room with anxious expression painted all over her face. Why was she nervous? Was she afraid of Victoria's opinion, or was it about something entirely else?

"I'm sorry," the girl finally said and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Tom doesn't really get what that fuss is all about."

"Even better if he's not here," Victoria said and shrugged. "At least he won't bother us." Molly smiled weakly in response and walked up to her slowly. "So, which dress did you pick?"

"The yellow one, I think," Molly answered and gestured towards the one that Victoria dismissed without hesitation. Obviously, that must have meant that the registrar would like it the most. "I have a perfect ribbon to match it."

"Does it need a ribbon? The waistline seems pretty fitted." Victoria frowned, raising the dress up and making sure that she was right.

"I meant for the hair." Molly pointed to a yellow piece of fabric that was lying on top of the coffee table, and Victoria forced herself to keep a straight face.

So she wanted to have a giant ribbon pinned at the top of her head. Why didn't it occur to Victoria right away? It seemed like something that Molly Hooper _would love_.

"Right. You want to make a bold statement," she said and smiled. "It makes my job easier really. You don't need much make-up to stand out."

"You think it will work?"

"Sure. If anyone can pull it off, it's you." That wasn't even a lie. Victoria realised that no matter how ridiculous that ribbon seemed to her, Molly would probably manage to look _cute._ She briefly wondered whether Greg would like it, but she pushed those thoughts away. Burgeoning into other people's private lives was Sherlock's thing. Victoria didn't want to act like him.

A few minutes later, they got to work. For someone, who didn't care so much for looks, Molly had a really great collection of cosmetics, making Victoria's job even easier. At first, they didn't talk much, but after another couple of minutes, the conversation between them just started to flow. Molly Hooper was exceptionally easy to talk to, if one could look past her awkwardness.

"I'm so happy for John and Mary," the registrar said and smiled dreamily. "They're such a beautiful couple. Even Sherlock thinks so." Victoria snorted at that statement, making Molly a bit flustered. "I mean, he would never say it, but I think he likes Mary."

"Yeah, that might be the case. I haven't heard him complain about her too often."

"You talk to him a lot, don't you?" Molly asked, slightly hesitant and Victoria decided that talking about Sherlock was inevitable.

"Not lately. We've had a fight," she admitted truthfully, causing Molly to look up in surprise. Victoria almost poked her in the eye, because of that sudden movement, but her reflex kicked in on time. Molly blushed a bit, muttering apologies, but it was easy to tell that she really wanted to know more about that fight. "He pissed me off, so I told him to go to hell."

"I wish I could do that…" the girl whispered and Victoria lowered her hand, frowning at the sadness that appeared on Molly's face. "I don't think I have the courage."

"I don't think that courage has anything to do with it. Not in your case."

"What do you mean?"

Victoria sighed and sat down for a moment, briefly checking the clock and making sure that they had the time to just talk. She looked at Molly and smiled apologetically, before speaking.

"I hope you're not going to get mad at me for saying this, but… It's really not so hard to figure out that you still have feelings for him." Molly blushed furiously, leaving Victoria no doubts that she was, in fact, correct in her assumptions. "I'm not saying that you still _love_ him, but something is definitely there. It's harder to oppose the person you like."

Molly didn't answer at first. She just looked down to her manicured nails and smiled bitterly.

"I hate myself for those feelings. I'm happy. Or, at least, I was happy, before he came back. I thought I've moved on, but there are moments, when I just can't stop myself from thinking…"

She didn't have to finish the sentence. Victoria knew _perfectly_ what Molly meant. Sometimes, you just couldn't stop yourself from wishing that things could be different. She'd probably spent a lot of time, thinking about what it would be like to actually be in a relationship with him, to kiss him and to feel him kissing her back. Those were the things that always accompanied unrequited love. Victoria couldn't say that she had ever found herself in a situation like Molly's, but it was easy to tell that it took its toll on the poor girl.

"Greg… Greg said I'm stupid for loving him," the registrar said and looked up, to see Victoria's reaction. "But how do I stop, if even two years of not seeing him couldn't heal me completely?"

"Molls…" Victoria sighed and shook her head. "Greg would never understand your feelings towards him. Sure, loving a person, who is mean and doesn't care for you, seems _weird_. But you should never feel bad for offering someone your affection. It's always going to be _their loss_ , for not accepting it."

"Do _you_ understand my feelings for him?" Molly asked quietly and Victoria shrugged.

"Sure I do. Sherlock's exciting. He walks into the room and suddenly, the air becomes thicker, and your heart starts working faster, because you know that he's the epitome of brilliance. You want nothing more than to just understand him, get inside of that mind of his. And then you look at his immaculate posture, at his _ridiculous_ bone structure. Suddenly, it hits you that he's more than just a genius. Suddenly, it's hard to stop yourself from wanting him."

Molly opened her mouth in shock, while Victoria began to realise that her words were true to the core. In fact, they were so true, that she wouldn't be surprised if Molls decided that she wasn't the only one infatuated with Holmes.

"Wow," the registrar breathed out after a moment of silence. "I don't think I could have described it better."

Victoria tried to keep a straight face, but Molly's scrutinising gaze made it very difficult. Finally, she sighed and scratched her head.

"It's really not that you're the only one who's ever _noticed_ Sherlock," she said. "But most women are able to resist that pull towards him, because he's a mean prick. They don't try to find his different side. They simply move on, since he only hurts them."

"I want to move on, Victoria, I really do."

"Then why does your fiancé look like him?" Victoria asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Molly blushed and glanced towards her hands, unable to meet Vicky's gaze. "I don't think you really wanted to move on, Molls. I think you just lied to yourself, up to this point. To me, it seems almost like you've got used to this feeling so much, that it became a part of you. I think it's hard to let go of that part and simply accept that your life can be better without it."

Molly let out a shaky breath and clenched her fists. Victoria started to regret her words, because looking at the registrar hurt. She tried so hard not to cry and be strong, but she was losing this battle fairly quickly.

"I just… I feel so _stupid_ , Vic," the girl whispered and closed her eyes. "I don't think I've ever stopped hoping that he would… he…" Her voice broke and Victoria found herself clenching her fists in anger. She knew exactly what Molly wanted to say, and it made her furious. Because Sherlock was aware of the girl's feelings, and he still let her believe. He let her, even though she didn't deserve to be treated that way. "But he never will. I know that now, and it makes me feel even worse. In a way, it's like giving up on your biggest dream. It hurts."

Before she could stop herself, Victoria stood up and walked up to Molly, caressing her shoulder gently. Her body was shaking from the pent-up emotions, so Victoria just allowed her to let it all out. She just stood there, waiting for that flood of feelings to pass. When it finally did, she crouched down, tilted Molly's chin up and smiled.

"Don't _force_ yourself to be happy, Molls. Don't force yourself to pretend that you're not fragile and sweet. Don't be afraid to admit that you've made a mistake, because it's the only way to actually move forward. It probably doesn't help, but I really believe that you'll find your happiness. That it will find _you_."

Molly sniffled and smiled through her tears.

"Actually, it _does_ help. I think I can stop crying now."

Victoria chuckled and stood up, grabbing her brush again.

"Good. We have to get you ready, don't we?"

Molly nodded and wiped her face with her t-shirt. She smiled, and Victoria thought that she looked really pretty with her eyes glowing. The detective wished she could see her with such a genuine smile more often.

Suddenly, the smile disappeared, replaced with a hesitant expression.

"Vic? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Victoria answered, although she had a bad feeling about that question. It felt only fair to be honest with the girl, though, so she put up a smile and shrugged her anxiousness off.

"Do _you_ have feelings for Sherlock?"

Her entire body tensed, upon hearing Molly's words, and she knew that the registrar must have noticed that. What felt even worse, was that she couldn't find the right answer to this question. Sure enough, she was angry with him, he annoyed her to no end, but he also excited her. Victoria had learned to enjoy those moments spent in his company. She learned to read between the verses, to look underneath his snarky remarks and mean comments.

There were moments, when she simply couldn't stop herself from sending her mind in that same spiral, which consumed Molly's mind for _years_. What would it be like to become that one woman, who could change him? What if he had a different side, one that wasn't entirely opposed to the concept of love? What if…

And then, reality struck her, making those dreams subside to the deepest parts of her mind again. Parts, which were hidden so carefully, that most of the time, she couldn't even remember they were there. Victoria couldn't allow herself to think about Sherlock in that way, because falling for him would, undoubtedly, destroy whatever sanity she had left. He would hurt her over, and over, until she wouldn't care anymore.

She simply couldn't let that happen.

"I hope I don't."

* * *

It didn't make any sense. Why would the killer decide to target someone seemingly innocent? The victim wasn't even a drug addict. He had no hit marks, and the tests showed that he was clean form any illegal substances. He hadn't even smoked weed.

They had troubles finding his identity, so it was still possible that the victim had a long criminal record. It wouldn't be a surprise, but Victoria had a feeling that he wasn't one of those thugs for life. Her feelings usually turned out to be right, so she decided to trust her gut for now. Her gut didn't help her figure out what had really happened though.

Vic rubbed her face and stretched, feeling stiff from sitting down for too long. She had completely lost the track of time. Her _crime wall_ consumed her attention, making Victoria forget about the world around her. She grabbed her phone from the table, checking for messages. Lestrade had sent her a picture of John and Mary right in front of the church. They looked so happy and excited, that Victoria couldn't stop herself from smiling.

Another message was from Molly. This time, she could not only see the newlyweds, but also Sherlock and a pretty brunette, standing next to the couple. Victoria's gaze stopped on Holmes' silhouette, deciding that his tux had made him look even taller. Or maybe it was John's fault? Either way, she couldn't stop herself from thinking that Sherlock looked like a statue; his lean silhouette was one thing, but the passive expression on his face seemed completely out of place.

She didn't reply to any of those messages. Instead, she walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine. Her brain was exhausted, but she doubted that sleep would come soon. There were too many things occupying her mind. If she wanted to rest, she had to numb herself first.

Victoria went back to the living room and switched on the TV, trying to find anything interesting. It was late, so most of the movies playing were heavy and dark. She didn't really feel like watching any of them, but she didn't have a choice. At least they helped to get her mind off the crime scene.

Not even ten minutes had passed, when she heard a sound of her lock being picked. Her entire body froze, when she realised what it meant. Victoria really didn't know how to feel about facing Sherlock again, but she was even more baffled by his visit. Sure, it was really late and Holmes didn't strike her as a party person, but she didn't expect him to leave his best friend's wedding. Even he wouldn't have done something like that. At least that's what she thought, before she heard the sound of her door opening.

Victoria didn't bother grabbing her gun. In fact, she hardly even moved, staring at the TV and trying not to panic. The door closed with a quiet click, but no sounds followed. She slowly turned her head and glanced at Sherlock, who was still wearing his tux, looking completely out of place in her ordinary, bland apartment. Victoria really didn't know what to say, so she remained quiet, looking at him cautiously.

Sherlock stared into an empty space, with a frown on his forehead. He was completely still, but his shoulders were tense, indicating that he realised his presence in her apartment was awkward. Finally, he moved towards the couch and sat down next to her, keeping a safe distance.

"I've caught the Mayfly Man," he said, surprising her. Was he hoping that talking about a murderer could avert her attention from the memories of their last meeting? "I realised that the attack on Bainbridge wasn't personal. It was a rehearsal. He wanted to see if his plan would succeed. One of the guests, Major Sholto, was his real target. He stabbed him with a thin blade through his belt. The pressure prevented Major from feeling anything, and bleeding out on the spot. A very clever plan."

Victoria had to admit that it really was impressive. She wanted to ask so many questions, but something stopped her from opening her mouth. Maybe it was the anger she still felt towards him, or maybe it was the faint smell of his cologne that reminded her of her stupidity. His presence here was unexplainable and weird, but it certainly couldn't have anything to do with Victoria. Sherlock probably wanted to brag, to _show off_ , and he thought that her inability to resist a good riddle would make her forget about their fight. Whatever it was, it didn't mean that Sherlock actually wanted to spend time with her, or earn her forgiveness.

"You're probably wondering how did the killer know about Major Sholto's wedding invitation. He managed to obtain that information by dating various women. He was our _ghost_. Turns out, the killer simply wanted to meet someone who could provide him access to Sholto. He went through all that effort to avenge his brother, who..."

"Stop," she finally said, interrupting him, and Sherlock fell silent immediately. "I've told you to go to hell, Holmes. What makes you think I want to hear any of it?"

"You told me to let you know if I solved the case," he answered, and she remembered that one single note she'd left on his laptop. Victoria wanted to snort in amusement, knowing that most people would simply realise that having a massive fight definitely cancelled that request. Not Sherlock though.

"Well then. Now that you've told me, feel free to show yourself out," she said and tried to remind herself that she had a reason to be mean to him.

"John told me that what I've said was... disrespectful and _hurtful_ ," Sherlock muttered, clearly displeased with having to say something like that. "I've realised that it was never my intention to make you feel mistreated. I still cannot understand the reason for choosing your own feelings over the righteousness of catching a criminal, but I acknowledge the complexity of your choice."

Victoria looked at him, only to find him staring into the TV with a blank expression. His face might have looked hollow, but Sherlock's gaze was sharp and focused. She had known him well enough to be able to see that his words were completely sincere; carefully chosen, but still truthful. She tried to remind herself that staying away from him would be good for her, but a part of her _wanted_ to trust him.

"You still want to look for him, don't you?" Victoria asked quietly, watching him nod decisively.

"Yes, naturally. But I won't make it my priority."

"Why not?"

Sherlock didn't answer at first, but something told her that he would, eventually.

"I've realised that I value our... _partnership_. You're obviously not as intelligent as me, but you seem to have a very good intuition. As a detective, your success comes from the mere fact that you don't close off your mind to options that seem less likely," he said and turned his head to look at her. "Your comment about Bainbridge being stabbed before he had stepped into the shower, allowed me to analyse the situation today and solve the case. I probably would have done it without you, but it was... easier that way."

It was probably the biggest compliment she'd heard from him. He claimed that having an assistant was a necessity, because it allowed him to talk out loud about his ideas and draw his own conclusions. He didn't actually _need_ help. And to hear that her insight could prove _actually_ useful... Well, she certainly hadn't expected that.

"I don't like to clutter my brain with useless information, which is why I filter everything that John says. It doesn't happen with you. Well, not as much."

He didn't actually apologise, he didn't change his mind regarding her father, but Victoria's anger dissipated nonetheless. Maybe she was too soft, but she just couldn't help herself. Not when she knew how hard it was for Sherlock to say those words. Not when a part of her was so eager to believe in every single word coming out of his mouth. And maybe it was pathetic and wrong, but she still smiled at him.

"Apology accepted. Doesn't mean I'm not pissed at you and that I'm okay with all of this. But I no longer feel the need to kick you out," Vicky muttered, watching Sherlock's expression soften. He didn't even correct her, as he would have usually done, if someone accused him of _apologising._ "You didn't have to leave the party to tell me that."

"Weddings aren't my thing. If it wasn't for the attempted murder, it would bore me to death." He rolled his eyes and Victoria's smile grew bigger.

"How did your speech go?"

"John hugged me, so I assume that it must have been decent. I don't know why everybody started to cry, but apparently that's what people do at the weddings," he said, making Victoria chuckle.

"Yep. Another reason to dislike those events." She agreed and frowned a moment later. "So why did you leave?"

"I wasn't needed anymore."

"Don't you think John would have wanted you to stay anyway?"

"John has just found out that his wife is pregnant," Sherlock said and Victoria opened her mouth in surprise.

"Mary's pregnant?! That's..."

"Perfectly predictable, when people copulate."

"That's such a terrible way to call it..." She muttered in response, covering her eyes.

"Why? It is, after all, an act leading to procreation, is it not?"

How did they get to _that_ in such a short amount of time? Victoria had barely stopped being angry with him. So why was she talking about _sex_ with Sherlock Holmes? It really wasn't a good idea. Their relationship should be strictly professional, and she didn't need another reason to start questioning her own feelings. She didn't want to spend her time wondering, if someone could change his views on sex; someone, who could show him a different side of this _act_.

Victoria really needed to stop thinking about that, even if a part of her wanted to continue. She still had to say something, though, before changing the subject to a safer one.

"Not anymore," she answered and smiled. "People do it mostly because it's _fun_."

He looked at her with a scowl, which told her that he had never considered it a possibility. For Sherlock Holmes, solving crimes and getting high on adrenaline was _fun_. Victoria cleared her throat, deciding that she didn't want to follow that trail of thoughts.

"I'll have to congratulate John, when I see him."

"Probably won't happen for a while. They're going for their Sex Holiday. John forbade me to call it that, but it seems to be a suitable term."

"It really does," she admitted. "The Honeymoon is probably the only thing that makes up for all the dancing you have to endure during the party."

"You don't like dancing?" Sherlock asked, suddenly agitated, making Victoria kind of anxious.

"Um... Not particularly. Probably because I don't know how to dance."

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, and then stood up, switching the TV off. To her surprise, he extended his hand towards her.

"I can teach you."

She frowned, completely baffled. Did he really... Did he just offer to teach her how to dance?

"You want to teach me. Dancing. _You_ ," she said slowly, making Sherlock visibly annoyed.

"It certainly seems that way, yes. Why does it make you unable to construct a proper sentence?"

Victoria looked around, trying to find at least one excuse to turn down his offer, but she couldn't. Slowly, she stood up, sliding her hand into his. It was warm and surprisingly soft.

"I can't believe that you know how to dance," she muttered, following him to the middle of the room. "Although I can't say that it doesn't make sense. You have great coordination and sense of rhythm."

Sherlock let go of her hand for a moment, placing one of her palms on top of his shoulder. His own hand found its way to her waist and she momentarily felt the warmth of his skin seeping through the light fabric of her t-shirt. He pulled her a bit closer and started to explain the theory behind dancing.

Couple of minutes later, Victoria found herself gliding across the room, led by Sherlock to an inaudible piece of music that existed only in his head. It was surprisingly easy to just let go and allow herself to be guided by him, without the care for anything. She couldn't hear the music, but somehow, the beating of her own heart was enough.

Suddenly he pushed her away, and then twirled her back to him, causing her to bump into his chest. He gracefully caught her and tilted her body, like in those romantic comedies Olivia loved to watch.

Victoria couldn't stop herself from smiling, when he pulled her up again and grinned with satisfaction.

"You're a much better partner than Janine," he said, his breath only slightly faster than normally. "I expected you to be rather stiff and uncooperative. You have a very dominant personality."

"It's dancing, Sherlock." She rolled her eyes with amusement. "I can fight you on any other occasion, but not this one. Who's Janine?"

"Mary's Maid of Honour. Not the sharpest mind. Quite shallow in fact."

"But she's pretty," Victoria said, making Sherlock look at her questioningly. "Molly sent me a photo."

"Janine's appearance is irrelevant. You know that the concept of beauty..."

"... means nothing to you, yes." Victoria nodded and sighed. "I hope you didn't hurt her feelings too much."

"No, I was under the impression that she liked me. She definitely appreciated my help in her search for a perfect partner."

"That's... nice of you," Victoria said, fighting the urge to chuckle. Sherlock evidently tried to solve the riddle of Janine's feelings, like it was an interesting case. His expression showed focus, which was completely ridiculous considering the topic of their conversation.

"Well, if she liked you, why haven't you stayed?" she asked, trying to convince herself that she wasn't eager to hear his response.

Sherlock looked at Victoria, his gaze so intense that she suddenly became aware of the fact that they were still touching. His hand resting on her waist started to feel heavy and hot, making her a bit uncomfortable.

"I didn't want to." His answer was simple and pretty straightforward, but Victoria couldn't stop herself from blushing. She felt incredibly grateful that the lighting in the room was dim, because otherwise, she'd have to explain herself and she had no idea what to say.

It wasn't about what he said. It was about what he _didn't_ say. He chose not to stay at the wedding, just as he chose to come by her apartment. Even after he had learned everything about her past, even after she'd told him to _go to hell_ , he still chose to include her in his life. And that was _something_.

God, she was so stupid. When did it become enough to make her blush like a teenager? He wasn't even hitting on her, for fuck's sake. He hadn't even said _anything_ even remotely close to an intimate confession. So why was her heart racing inappropriately fast? Why was she fighting the urge to smile at him like a blithering idiot?

She cleared her throat and took a step back, watching Sherlock's hand fall to his side limply. He looked down to his arm, realising that he kept touching her throughout their conversation, and he frowned, probably unable to understand his own behaviour. Victoria wanted to laugh, seeing puzzlement on his face, but something stopped her from doing so.

Maybe it was the tension in her own body, or maybe it was the fact that his puzzlement turned into fascination. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

* * *

 **Like I said, I wanted to explain something else. I don't know if you're fans of Greg and Molly, but in case you're not -don't worry, their relationship will just be there, in a very subtle way. But if you ship these two -go check out "Undiscovered Feelings" wirtten by KagamiNee. My story and hers are connected, like I've mentioned earlier. It's not neccesary to read them both, though :)**


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: I have to say, this chapter gives me mixed feelings. I don't particularly like it, but I guess it's not that bad. No matter how many times I've tried to rewrite it, I still wasn't satisfied, so I just gave up. Anyways, I have a very strict plan for the next couple of chapters and this one simply had to be here.**

 **As always, thank you for reading, following and favouriting this story. I'm honestly shocked with how much you seem to like it :) I hope it continues to be that way!**

* * *

The world became normal again. She was back to solving cases, Molly went back to pretending to be okay, while Sherlock… Well, Sherlock went back to pestering her, whenever he felt like it. Victoria was fully aware of the fact that few months ago, his behaviour would have driven her crazy. She probably would have done _anything_ to get him to stop stealing her privacy, but right now… Right now it just seemed normal.

Victoria got used to getting up, woken up by his ridiculous texts. She opened her eyes, checked her phone, called him a prick and then proceeded to go about her day as usual. She also learned to ignore most of the things that came out of his mouth, when he decided to break into her place to talk about a case he was currently working on. He didn't need her help, and her mind functioned a lot better, when it wasn't _strained_ to work in the middle of the night.

Something about that weird partnership worked and that thought both pleased and scared her. Her relationship with Sherlock was special; not many people could brag about being this close to him. The thought of becoming a person, who was capable of breaking through the walls of his sociopathy and making him acknowledge that she wasn't a complete moron… Well, it definitely felt exhilarating. But it was also incredibly scary.

Victoria couldn't stop herself from thinking that her life –so seemingly normal- started to revolve around the consulting detective. She woke up in the morning, expecting to see his texts, and when they weren't there, her mind came up with dozen reasons for their absence. She preferred to divest herself of free time, just to be able to run around the city and watch him _do his thing_. His thing, that turned out to be one of the most exciting things to watch; once she had spent enough time with Sherlock Holmes, she began to learn all about the way his mind worked.

No, she wasn't becoming a _genius_. Such a thing was completely impossible, after all. Her new knowledge was more about learning how he assessed the scene and facts laid out before him. Victoria knew what he looked for, what he wanted to find, and how obvious the connections between some details actually were for him.

In a way, he started to mentor her, without even realising it. He acted just like he always did, except for the moments, when he would look at her with ironic smirk gracing his face and eyes shining with amusement. She didn't care, though. He could laugh at her excitement and eagerness to follow him everywhere, but it didn't bother her anymore. Victoria had come to terms with the fact that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to stay away from him. Not entirely, anyway.

Being obsessed with Sherlock Holmes was dangerous. In a way, it resembled being mesmerised by a thunderstorm –beautiful, unpredictable and wild. His deductions reminded her of a lightning strike that suddenly lit up the entire sky, making all the previously unnoticeable details shine bright. It was such a hypnotizing thing to observe, that she simply couldn't stop herself from wanting more. So she stood in the darkness, waiting and waiting, until another thunder struck, taking her breath away one more time. Victoria tried to convince herself that she was still able to function without witnessing that process over and over, but the more she thought about it, the more she started to realise that it was all a _lie_.

Suddenly, Mycroft's words gained a different meaning -a far scarier one. Maybe he wasn't talking about crossing a certain line by simply breaking the law. Victoria couldn't stop the feeling that she was manipulated into getting closer and closer to the final point, that made it impossible to just go back to the way things were before. It really felt as though she had woken up and suddenly found herself unable to function without that certain type of _high_ that Sherlock provided. Maybe Mycroft had never meant that Sherlock would force her to turn her back on the rules. Maybe he meant something far more _human_.

Victoria knew that getting addicted to Sherlock could result in a life filled with misery and self-hatred. She knew that allowing herself to have any feelings towards him would be _crazy._ She'd seen that trap _months_ ago, and somehow, she started to walk right into it, with excitement filling her entire body.

The worst thing about it all, was that even if she hadn't already crossed that point of no return, she wouldn't want to go back. Because she simply couldn't imagine her life without Sherlock Holmes. Not anymore. And she was stupid because of it.

* * *

It was one of those nights that felt more like torture, than a chance to rest after a whole day spent on the hard work. No matter how hard she tried to fall asleep, her mind refused to cooperate. Victoria lied in her bed for hours, counting each breath and balancing on that thin line between sleep and consciousness. Even though the dawn wasn't even near, staying in bed started to tire her even more, as every minute felt like an eternity.

She simply gave up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up. The chill air hit her bare skin, reminding her that the summer was over. Even if it wasn't particularly warm to begin with, she could almost smell the scent of autumn rain and fallen leaves, whenever she went outside. Apparently, some of that cold managed to seep inside her room, chasing the sleep away from her completely.

Victoria stood up, grabbing her loose sweater from the chair and pulling it over her head. It was too big for her, as the sleeves covered her entire hands, swinging limply at her sides, when she began to walk towards the door. She didn't even bother looking at the clock, knowing that the simultaneously late and early hour would do nothing to brighten up her mood.

To her surprise, her living room wasn't enveloped in darkness. It also wasn't empty, but she didn't feel exactly alarmed. Sherlock's constant visits to her place stopped being startling a while ago. Still, he rarely decided to break in and _not_ wake her up. Actually, it looked like he had been sitting in front of her crime wall for a while now. He wasn't wearing his coat, or even his jacket. He didn't bother with getting a chair for himself; Sherlock sat on the floor, with his legs bent and crossed.

"I think I have to get you a key to my place," she muttered, looking at him cautiously. "You're spending more and more time here. What's wrong with Baker Street?"

"Absolutely nothing. I just had a question," he answered, frowning slightly.

"Which is why you're sitting down on the floor," she mocked and sighed, seeing that he didn't even flinch. His gaze was fixed on the wall, as though he saw something interesting there. Victoria doubted that it was really the case, since he had seen these exact same pictures and notes before. They had never caught his attention.

"What's interesting about this case?" Sherlock asked, forcing her to raise her brows. "Why is it here?"

"I hope that I'll solve it one day," she answered and sat down beside him. "Was that your question?"

He didn't answer, skimming over the pictures. Victoria knew that he probably made all the connections that could have been made, but he certainly couldn't have solved it.

"It doesn't seem particularly difficult." Obviously, he ignored her own question, completely engulfed by the wall. Victoria shrugged and started to fidget with the sleeve of her sweater. She didn't feel like talking about that poor bloke, who was murdered by an overdose. Actually, his death was ruled out as a suicide, because of no evidence pointing to anything different, but she had a hard time believing in that version of events. Sadly, her _gut_ was not an evidence.

"He OD'd. They think it was a suicide, which is…"

"…obviously not true. One would have to be blind to omit all the evidence pointing to a cold blooded murder," Sherlock interrupted her, but Victoria only rolled her eyes and shrugged again.

"Yeah, well… The evidence seem kind of inexistent to everyone, but us. There was no witnesses. We don't even know his name. I've spent a lot of time walking around the neighbourhood, showing his photo to everyone, but the only thing I got, was a date proposal." She scowled, thinking about that one druggie, who asked her out. What was his name? Bill? Not that it mattered anyway. Victoria had no intentions of going on a date with him.

Suddenly, Sherlock turned his head around, looking at her intently. She felt shivers running up her spine. His gaze could be so intense sometimes… It was a bit like getting x-rayed, or exposed completely. Most of the time, it was disconcerting, but there were moments like this one, when she simply couldn't stop herself from feeling excited.

"Did you agree?"

She blinked, completely dumbfounded. For a second, she was wondering if her hearing worked alright, because the possibility of Sherlock Holmes asking her about a _date proposal_ , seemed bonkers.

"I… What?"

"You've said that a man approached you with a romantic intent. Did you decide to indulge his request?"

"Um… He was a junkie, Sherlock. I'm already spending time with one addict, I hardly need another," she mocked, watching him frown in confusion.

"What conditions would he have to fulfil for you to agree?"

Okay. Why was he asking her such questions? Did she miss a very important moment of Sherlock Holmes life? One, when he decided to stop mocking sentiment and everything even remotely romantic?

"Holmes… Are you alright?" she asked slowly, frowning at him and fighting the urge to touch his forehead to see if he had a fever.

"Perfectly fine, thank you. I just decided that it would be better to do some research, before I try to ask a woman out. Not that females' reactions aren't predictable. A lot of things depend on the success of my endeavour, though, so I want to have the absolute certainty that everything is going to work out perfectly," he stated in response, while Victoria tried to understand the words coming out of his mouth.

It certainly seemed like she missed something. A huge _fucking_ break-through, apparently. Sherlock Holmes wanted to go on a date. Date. With a woman. An actual, living and breathing woman.

Christ, things started to get really out of control here.

"Oh. Do you… Um. Like someone? Like really like?" she said, earning herself a glance full of disgust. Suddenly, her shoulders stopped feeling so tense. No, Sherlock Holmes didn't like anyone. He probably had an entirely different agenda, and she was just too stupid or tired to think clearly.

"That sentence you've just constructed is the ultimate proof of how stupid human race has become. Sentiment makes your brain completely unable to function. I _obviously_ don't like anyone."

Victoria ignored the first part of his statement, just as she ignored the relief that washed over her body. It made her feel moronic, but she simply couldn't help herself.

"But you _do_ want to go on a date."

"More than one date. I'm planning on making the woman fall in love with me." He rolled his eyes and grinned. Apparently, his head contained a very devious plan, which he had no intentions of sharing with her, or probably anyone.

"But _why?_ "

"Because I _need_ her."

Victoria really tried not to notice the double meaning of his words. Sure, he probably meant that he needed the poor girl for his plans, but his tone… God, she needed to stop making a fool out of herself. There was no way in hell that Sherlock Holmes would ever say something in a similar manner, meaning that he would like to _fuck someone_.

"You're not going to tell me why, huh?" she muttered, not even waiting for his response. "Who is she?"

"Not important."

"Fine. Then what do you want to know? I cannot exactly tell you what it feels like to love someone."

"No, but you can tell me, what should I do to make her change her mind about me. I've already told her that I'm not interested in any kind of relationships."

Victoria scratched her head, trying to gather her thoughts. He honestly counted on her to give him _dating advice_. Fucking hell… She desperately wanted to avoid talking to him about anything that wasn't strictly professional. Maybe it was just a desperate attempt to avoid thinking about her own feelings towards Sherlock, but it seemed to work for the most part. Why did he want to fuck it up?

"I'm not going to believe that you don't know what she likes," she forced herself to say, trying to keep her voice calm. "You were able to tell what _I_ like, after just one meeting."

"Yes, it wasn't difficult to deduce."

Victoria was briefly surprised by his vague answer. On every other occasion, he would simply show off, by telling her everything he'd managed to learn about her preferences. But Sherlock just sat there, calm and relaxed, without no intentions to speak.

"You know what she likes. It shouldn't be difficult to use that against her, to manipulate her," she said, shrugging after a moment of silence.

"But how do I make her fall for me?" he asked seriously and forced her to frown.

What was she supposed to do? It was pretty obvious that Sherlock had no intentions of staying with that woman. He wanted to use her as a tool, as one of the means to reach his goal, whatever it may have been. Helping him would undoubtedly lead to a broken heart, but on the other hand... he came to _her_. He trusted her enough to allow her to catch a glimpse of something that apparently needed to stay a secret. Refusing him didn't feel exactly right either.

Victoria sighed and rubbed her temple.

"Sherlock... I can't say I've been in many relationships, or that I've been in love with someone. But I don't need to have experience to know, that broken heart _hurts_."

"Technically, you can't break a heart. It's..."

"God damn it, Holmes!" she stopped him and smacked his shoulder, earning herself a very surprised look. "You know very well what I've meant. You want to use that girl's feelings and then ditch her. It's not okay."

"Well, there is a possibility that I might like being in a relationship with her."

"Oh, is there?"

"No- not really," he answered immediately and frowned. "Victoria, I'm going to do it whether you give me some... advice, or not. I've mastered many skills. It allows me to believe that mastering the art of seduction will prove equally easy."

He was probably right. After all, his sociopathy didn't make him incapable of feeling. He knew how to manipulate people into doing what he wanted, and seducing someone required that particular skill. Besides... Victoria didn't really think that Sherlock would have any troubles making a girl swoon. His face was weirdly attractive, he was tall and lean, but not without some muscles. The most enticing thing about Sherlock was his confidence and that aura of mystery, clinging to him at all times. There was also his voice. Oh God, his voice...

She felt her cheeks warming up, and she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm herself. Sherlock was watching her intently, probably trying to decipher her thoughts, but she knew that even he couldn't read minds.

"You're blushing. Why?" he asked, causing her to frown. There was no way she would admit to having such thoughts, but leaving him without an answer wasn't an option too.

"I'm angry, Sherlock," she lied, ignoring his intrusive gaze. Actually, she wasn't exactly lying. Victoria _was_ angry. He put her in a very awkward situation, forcing her to consciously hurt another woman. He also forced her to acknowledge _other things_ that needed to stay hidden, if she wanted to keep her sanity. "I can help you, and allow you to break her heart. Or I can do nothing to assist your vile plan. It won't change a thing though, because I can't stop you."

Sherlock didn't say a thing, but he never stopped looking at her. She could feel his gaze, wandering about her face, searching for any signs of a lie.

"So how do I do this?" he finally asked, deciding that her words were sincere. He also decided that she agreed to help him, seeing no other alternative. Victoria sighed and shook her head, forcing herself to look at him.

"Make her think that you care about those little details, like what flowers she likes, what colour is her favourite, even if you find them ridiculous," she said and smiled bitterly. "We believe in what we want to believe. If you manage to convince her that she's special, she'll believe it in a heartbeat. Be charming. Smile a lot –no, Sherlock, don't grin like a psychopath. Your smile has to be gentle and it has to reach your eyes, otherwise it will just look creepy." His smile changed into a more subdued one, but it didn't give off a genuine feeling. "Even if my face doesn't put you in the mood to smile sincerely, you have to think of something that does."

"Your face is perfectly fine," Sherlock stated and offered her his usual smile, and before she could stop herself, Victoria pointed to his face with her finger.

"That one. Smile like _that_ and she'll fall for you in a minute." She rolled her eyes, when Sherlock blinked a couple of times.

"Why?"

"It's nice." She shrugged and averted her gaze. "You look human, when you smile like that."

"Why would it work on her, and not on you?"

Victoria froze for a moment. Sherlock sounded genuinely interested in her answer, but she didn't know what to say to him. She could just tell the truth; he was attractive, even to her. _Especially_ to her. She could also tell him that her intelligence made it impossible to act on that attraction. Victoria had known him too well to believe that he could ever return her feelings. It didn't stop her from _wishing_ that things could be different. And she was afraid that he might see through her lie and call her bluff. There wasn't another option though.

"You're attractive, Sherlock. It's not like I don't see it. I'm not made out of _rock_." Victoria scowled and scratched her head. "But I know you. Even if I decided to hit on you, it would never work."

"No, it wouldn't." Sherlock agreed, but never looked away. "But you still think about it, don't you?"

"I don't _want_ to think about it."

"Mm."

Victoria glanced his way, surprised to find his gaze focused on her lips. Was he... was he actually thinking about kissing her? Or was it just a figment of her imagination?

"Sherlock?" she muttered, trying to shift his attention elsewhere. This conversation became awkward -too awkward to handle. Her heart was beating fast, her breath was shallow and she wanted nothing more, but to run away from the intensity of his gaze. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed completely, suffocating her and making her usually rational mind fuzzy. Why else would she even consider moving closer to him and running her fingers through his hair?

Sherlock's gaze left her lips, focusing on her eyes instead, and he cleared his throat.

"It would be an interesting experiment. Somehow it doesn't seem as... repulsive as I thought it would." He frowned, making her stomach somersault.

"I'm not going to become an experiment, Sherlock," she said, surprising herself with how tough she sounded. "It could be _interesting,_ but it won't happen. It can't happen."

Silence that fell between them was heavy and awkward, but she couldn't find the strength to try and ease the tension. Victoria wanted to laugh hysterically, realising that they would never go back to that sweet state of obliviousness. Sherlock would probably watch her every move, and sooner or later, he'd try to test her reactions. He would never get the idea out of his head, just as he couldn't drop the case of her father. A part of his mind was _curious_ , and that curiosity was going to be the death of her.

Victoria couldn't just omit the fact that he stopped being entirely opposed to the idea of... well, what should she even call it? _Experimenting with her_? He might have phrased it this way, but it sounded completely inappropriate, at least to her.

Christ, it was so complicated... Victoria still couldn't understand how did she manage to fuck up this big. She wasn't a naive, little chit. She had known all along that Sherlock Holmes was untouchable -both metaphorically and physically. Was it because she could never resist a good challenge? Or was it because she simply couldn't help, but to feel enticed by the riddle, hidden in his eyes. Whatever it was, she felt as though she had completely lost her mind.

"I have no intentions of treating you like an experiment," Sherlock finally said, interrupting her inner musings. "I value our partnership. I also believe that my behaviour hurts you enough on daily basis. I don't want to make things... difficult for you."

"I'm not in love with you, Holmes," she said and felt her cheeks warm up again. Saying that out loud felt ridiculous, but she knew that she didn't lie. The unhealthy pull she felt towards him was impossible to ignore at this point, but it wasn't _love_. It resembled a poison, more than anything else. "If all it took for someone to start loving you, was _attractiveness,_ most women would fall head over heels for you. That's why I said that you need to pay attention to details, to the things she likes, if you want her to feel _more_."

Sherlock nodded and looked at the wall, for the first time in a long time. Suddenly, some tension left her shoulders and the air became thinner.

"I think I'll do some research on that. I'd ask John, but his Sex Holiday lasts longer, than I expected. Although it leads me to believe that his expertise in the area might actually be helpful. In comparison to someone who didn't have sex for a long time."

Her mouth flew open, as she stared at him in disbelief. Just like that, their _moment_ was gone. Actually, she began to wonder if she was the only one aware of its existence, because Sherlock just shrugged everything off and became his normal self -a prick.

"I don't have the time to sleep around, Holmes. I don't even want to do it."

He looked at her with a smirk and stood up, brushing off the dust from his slacks. She clenched her fists, knowing that he didn't believe her.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm not going to be able to see you in the upcoming weeks. Lots of things to do. Things that are of uttermost importance," he said, changing the subject completely. Sherlock moved towards the door, grabbing his coat and putting it on. "Do not tell John anything about it. He's definitely going to ask, when he comes down from his sex high."

"Why? Don't you want his help?"

"Help?" Sherlock snorted and turned around, looking at her. "Do you think John would allow me to break someone's heart, if he knew?"

"No, not really. I'm not okay with that either. I'm just not naive enough to think I can talk you out of it," she muttered, shrugging dismissively.

"Good girl," he purred, making her stiffen again. Victoria looked at him and noticed that his gaze was clearly searching for a reaction. She wanted to laugh bitterly, realising that her predictions were right. He would start that stupid _experiment,_ even if he claimed otherwise. Holmes was completely unable to stop himself from manipulating people. But she wasn't going to let him toy with her. Not without doing the same thing to _him_.

"I'm not always good, Sherlock. There are just some situations, when you can't help being _dirty_ ," she said suggestively and smiled like a predator, tilting her head to the side.

Sherlock's lips parted for a moment, making him look completely ridiculous. She wanted to laugh, seeing that his tactics backfired and left him without a clue about what to do next. Victoria chuckled lightly, and he simply turned around, leaving her apartment in a blink of an eye.

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was pointless and completely unhelpful, but... boy, did it feel good.


	13. Chapter 12

Apparently, their limited contact didn't apply to exchanging text messages. Victoria couldn't say that she was exactly happy about it, since Sherlock had no intentions of relying on the advice he had read in his books. She was now busy not only with solving cases, but also with answering his questions about _basic_ social interactions.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, why can't he just let me eat my breakfast?!" she called out loud, when she felt vibrations in her pocket. Another text. Another nuisance.

How could he expect her to walk him through a _fake relationship_? This entire situation was extremely awkward on its own, but knowing nothing about his reasons didn't help. And there was also another small inconvenience -her _feelings_. Her bloody, stupid, reckless feelings that made her want nothing else, than to crush him for forcing her to participate in his _relationship_.

"It's like I'm in a threesome, without actually consenting to it," she muttered again and pushed the button on the coffee machine with fury.

"Did you just say..." Anderson's voice reached her ears and Victoria slapped herself mentally. That's what she got for talking to herself in the middle of the kitchen. Philip Anderson was the last person she wanted to see now. "You're in a... threesome? I didn't even know you had a boyfriend!"

"I don't have a boyfriend. One of my... _friends_ uses me for dating tips."

Her phone vibrated again, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Smashing that damn thing started to feel more and more like a reasonable solution. Except she was a detective. She couldn't walk around without a phone, and Sherlock would have found her new number anyway.

"Your friend seems pretty persistent," Anderson noticed, and she heard his footsteps coming closer and closer. He stopped right next to her, just when another text message arrived. "Is that Sherlock?!"

Victoria opened her eyes and grabbed the mug full of coffee. Freaking Anderson. Why did he decide to be _smart_ in that precise moment? Couldn't he wait for the whole show to end? That was just her luck, ay?

"Don't be ridiculous. Sherlock doesn't _date_ ," she scoffed in response, moving to sit at the table. Her statement was generally true, but it surely wouldn't be enough to make Anderson lose his interest, now that he'd caught a whiff of something interesting.

"But he's… you know," he said, raising his eyebrows, while Victoria did the exact opposite.

"Um… He's a sociopath. Relationships are hardly interesting to him."

"You know what I mean. He must have… _needs_."

Victoria almost spat out the coffee, glancing at Anderson with disbelief. She didn't know what concerned her more –the fact that Philip forced her to have this conversation with him, or the fact that he had spent some time thinking about Sherlock's… _needs_.

"Philip, I'm not going to discuss Sherlock and his urges, okay?" She smiled sweetly and shook her head, taking another sip of her coffee.

Why was the world so hell-bent on making her remember about her unhealthy attraction all the time? Why couldn't everyone just help her get those stupid ideas out of her head?

Her phone vibrated again and this time she couldn't stop herself from taking it out of the pocket and unlocking the screen with fury.

 _Is kissing always this… wet? –SH_

 _My research says it's not supposed to feel that way. –SH_

 _Oh, it also says that I should feel_ excited _. Who writes these books? –SH_

 _It was a rhetorical question. You don't have to answer that. –SH_

 _Why do people consider exchanging saliva so attractive? –SH_

"For fuck's sake," she muttered, before she could have stopped herself, and Anderson's eyes lit up right away.

"So it really is him!"

"No! Why do you even think so? It's ridiculous." Victoria rolled her eyes, knowing that although it really felt that way, it was a _lie_. Because Sherlock Holmes apparently _kissed a woman_. And he didn't like it.

God, she hated the fact that a part of her was satisfied with the knowledge that _the other woman_ couldn't make him change his mind. There was also that part, which kept urging her to try to do that on her own. Victoria really didn't know which one was worse.

"Because you have that _look_ , Victoria," Anderson replied and she glanced his way with confusion. "I don't think you know that, but whenever you talk about him, or _to_ him, your eyes shine with excitement."

No, they didn't. She'd surely know if they were. And, most importantly, Sherlock would know that too.

Fuck, he probably did.

"That's because Sherlock's exciting. Actually, he's so exciting that I'll probably die of a heart attack one day," she mocked and finished her coffee in one gulp.

"Ha! So you're not denying that you're attracted to him?!" Anderson exclaimed, pointing his finger at her. Only her strong will stopped her from breaking it in two places.

"He pisses me off, Anderson. But he's also a great detective, so forgive me for being _happy_ to have the privilege to work with him."

"No one's ever called working with Sherlock a _privilege_ , Victoria." Philip smiled smugly, lowering his finger.

"That's because everyone is more occupied with calling him a _freak_."

Anderson looked down, slightly embarrassed, but that state didn't last long. When he met her gaze again, he seemed almost amused, which did nothing to soothe his nerves.

"He doesn't tolerate anyone, Victoria. No one's able to understand him. I wasn't able to do that for a very long time. It's not _normal_ to be this brilliant, and it freaks everyone out. Everyone, but you," he said and tilted his head to the side. The detective sighed, knowing that Anderson was probably right.

It was easier to just call him a weirdo, because it ultimately made everyone feel better about themselves. If Sherlock wasn't normal, then they could still live the illusion of being extraordinary. Calling him a freak felt easier, than admitting to being worse. And it was fucking unfair.

"Sherlock may be a sociopath, but he's not incapable of feeling, you know. He chooses to ignore that fact, he doesn't understand the principals of relationships and basic social interactions. But it still doesn't make him incapable of living through all those feelings that are _normal_ to everyone else. That's the only difference between me and other people. Because I treat him like a human being. You don't have to be a smartass to get him to _tolerate_ you. John Watson is not a smartass."

She was surprised by her own words. She didn't expect to ever defend Sherlock in such a way, but it felt good to do it. No matter how angry she was at him, no matter how difficult her own emotions had become, Holmes didn't deserve to be treated like a worse sort. He was a rude prick, but it didn't make him a bad man.

Anderson didn't answer right away, but he looked at her with an airy smile that made her somewhat uneasy. It felt almost as if she had said something extraordinary –like she had shared a secret with Philip, without even meaning to do so.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, shifting in her chair, while Anderson chuckled lightly.

"You know… Sherlock really doesn't do relationships. But I think that if someone could ever change his mind, it would be you."

Victoria felt her muscles tense in response to Anderson's statement. She knew that she shouldn't ask him to explain, but a part of her really wanted to know. Why did he think so? And –more importantly- could he be right? Those questions were dangerous. She knew that, when she decided to open her mouth and ask him to explain. No matter how hard she wanted to stop herself, she couldn't.

"I'm probably going to regret this, but… Why? Why do you think so?"

"Because Sherlock is human only when he wants to be. People might fail to put up the effort, but even with the biggest effort, the final choice is his."

"So what?"

"You didn't give him a choice, Victoria." Anderson smiled again and shrugged. "You've decided for him, by treating him like a normal person and by actually appreciating him for who he is. Sherlock might be a sociopath, unable to _understand_ some feelings. But it doesn't mean he can resist them."

It was hard to ignore her racing heart. It was even harder to ignore that spark of hope that had found its way into her thoughts.

* * *

Olivia looked stunning. Her blonde hair was perfectly straight, falling on her back smoothly, sparkling every time it caught a ray of light. Even from a distance, Victoria could see her white teeth, bared in a sweet smile that was meant to charm yet another _man of her dreams_. That girl must have had a _lot_ of dreams, because her life reminded Vic of a soap opera sometimes.

She almost felt sorry for ruining her friend's evening, but she needed to talk to her. _Really_ needed to talk. Liv would probably be furious for a minute or two, but Victoria had a perfect plan to soothe her anger. She only needed to say that the idea of falling for Sherlock Holmes wasn't entirely crazy.

"Hey, Liv!" she greeted the blonde, putting arm around her and smiling brilliantly. "I'm so happy to see you here. I've been meaning to talk to you for _ages._ "

Before Olivia could protest, Victoria pulled her away from the bar, dragging her friend to a secluded corner of the pub. It was still loud, but not loud enough to make it impossible to talk.

"What the fuck, Vic?!" Olivia yelled, trying to free herself from Victoria's grasp, but the detective didn't budge. She didn't go to the gym for _nothing_. "That could have been my _one true love!_ "

"Oh, shut up! I'm in trouble and I need your help. I don't care about your one true love right now!"

Olivia fell silent and sat down on the chair, grinning like a psychopath.

"I fucking knew it!" she exclaimed with satisfaction, while Victoria tried not to glare daggers at her friend. "You fucking fell for him!"

"Watch your language," Vic growled and rubbed her forehead. "I didn't fall for him. Not yet. But… Well, I'm… I'm not entirely immune to his… _charm_."

Bloody hell, it sounded ridiculous.

"So you want to fuck him?"

"Liv!" Victoria snapped and laid her head on the table. "I don't know what I want. I feel like I've lost my mind. Out of all men out there, I had to take interest in him."

"Yeah, that's the least surprising thing about all of this." Olivia said with amusement, forcing Vic to raise her head again. "I actually thought it would take longer for you to admit it."

" _That_ surprises you? What about the fact that I'm apparently crazy?!"

"Oh, come on, Vic. There's a reason that none of the guys caught your interest before. You're addicted to a certain life style. Riddles, mysteries… You _live_ for that."

"Fine, but what does it have to do with…"

"Everything! You had a pretty fucked up childhood, Vic. It would be a miracle if you were entirely normal. Years of therapy helped, but don't tell me that you're _okay_."

Victoria looked away and bit her lip. No, she wasn't okay. Her job was, after all, a huge coping mechanism. She solved crimes and dove into a different world to forget all about her own nightmares. By doing this, she could also help other people, who suffered from traumas.

But it was true. Her addiction to the job wasn't entirely normal. Most people chose it to do some good, maybe to feel the adrenaline. All of them paid a huge price for their decision. They had nightmares, or even depression, while Victoria knew that her work allowed her to get her shit together. It kept her mind sharp and focused, with no time left to grieve and relieve the horrors. Somehow, witnessing other people's suffering allowed her to forget about her own. And nothing about it was healthy. It was just a way to survive and keep her sanity intact.

"Sherlock is everything you want, Vic. Even if you're no longer a detective, life with someone like _him_ would offer you the same kind of high. Do you honestly can't see it?"

Victoria sighed and hid her face in her palms. She could see it. That _fascination_ with Sherlock wasn't exactly coincidental. It wasn't even surprising, because she had always known that he interested her. She just hoped that her will would turn out to be enough to stop her from doing something so reckless and… _pointless_. Because developing feelings for Sherlock Holmes didn't make sense. He couldn't offer her a normal relationship, he couldn't offer her appreciation. Actually, that _high_ was the only thing he could give her. It wasn't nearly enough to make her forget about everything else; it shouldn't have been enough.

"I can't fall for him, Liv. Wanting him is one thing, but… I don't even remember what's it like to not have him around. I've had my ass kicked enough to know that adding a broken heart to the mix is not a good idea. I knew that from the beginning. So why isn't it enough? How do I stop harbouring _feelings_ for him?"

"Oh, baby girl… You're speaking to a person, who's always wanted nothing more, than to just fall for someone. I don't even know how to _start_ doing this. How would I know how to stop?"

"That's not helpful, Liv," Victoria said and clenched her fists.

"What do you want me to say, huh? Feelings don't work like that. You can't just shut them off, even if you really wanted to."

"But I _do_ want to!"

"Bullshit!" Olivia snorted and smirked. "You want those feelings gone, but you don't want _him_ gone. If you actually wanted to stop the process, you would have cut him off. He might pester you all the time, but I think you would be able to find a way to get a message through his thick skull. If you only wanted to do it."

God, why did she have to be right again? It was so clear that Victoria didn't want to change her relationship with Sherlock. Just like every other addict, she wanted to get better, without actually having to stop getting high. She wasn't stupid; such a thing wasn't possible. Still, the thought of kicking him out of her life made her dizzy and nauseous.

"Liv… I'm addicted to him. You've said it yourself in a way. It's not healthy. And I want out."

"Do you want out, or are you just scared?" Liv asked and smirked. Victoria chose not to answer, as it seemed pointless. Her friend already knew that her desperate need to stop herself from falling for Sherlock was the outcome of fear. Fear of being hurt, fear of loneliness and… fear of rejection. "Look, Vic. Have you ever thought that maybe Sherlock wouldn't be so opposed to the idea, if you've forced him to consider it?"

Victoria snorted and shook her head.

"You don't force Sherlock to do anything. It's simply not possible."

"Is it? Because I was under the impression that you've forced him to play that game of yours by the rules you've _invented_."

"That's different, Liv. It's just a _game_. Relationships are not games. Relationships are hard work, which becomes even harder if you want to be with a _sociopath_." She sighed tiredly and glanced at Olivia.

"Everything is a game, Vic. Our whole life is a game. And you can either play it right and win, or you can screw up and lose. It may be hard to be with someone, but I refuse to accept it as an excuse. You don't just quit, because something got _hard_."

Victoria bit her lip, knowing that her friend's words made a lot of sense. It didn't change the fact that Sherlock was _different_. Even if she had somehow managed to convince him to divorce his work to be with her, he would still be the same person. He'd still be rude, uncaring, socially awkward. Surely, he could learn certain things, he could even become good at them, but… It simply wouldn't be the same.

"I'm not sure I want to complicate my life even more, Liv. The chances of Sherlock ever reciprocating my… _feelings_ , are very slim. But even if it happened, I would be in for a lot of trouble. And I've already been through years of therapy. I'm not sure if he's worth the risk."

"Probably not." Olivia snorted and then smiled. "But what if you pass on your _one chance_ to be truly happy?" Victoria rolled her eyes, but before she could say something, Liv raised her hand and sent her a glare. "Don't mock me. I know my love life is mostly about sex, but it doesn't mean it's like that for everyone. You don't date, you don't sleep around… Catching your interest is almost _impossible,_ Vic. But when it finally happened, you're willing to just write it off as a mistake."

"Because it _is_ a mistake, Liv!" Victoria said and clenched her fists. "You don't know Sherlock like I do. He's rude, he's hurtful and he doesn't _care_."

"And you knew all those things from the beginning, Vic! You've said so yourself!" Olivia pointed out and raised her eyebrows. "Sherlock's character didn't drive you away. He's not going to change, but apparently it doesn't bother you, Vic. You would have walked away otherwise. I may not know him, but I know _you_. No one gives you shit without consequences. And if you were willing to tolerate Sherlock's behaviour, I'm not going to believe that you wouldn't be able to live with it."

"Tolerating him on professional level is different than…"

"Yeah, because you've been so professional with him, huh?" Liv mocked and shook her head. "Going to his house, whenever he asked you to, cooking him dinners, just because his landlady asked you… Who are you kidding, Vic? You knew that he's off-limits. You knew, and you still walked right into that situation. So maybe instead of bitching about the _treacherous feelings_ , be brave and face them. Because they sure as hell didn't appear out of nowhere."

"Fuck you!" Victoria yelled, but Olivia only smirked, crossing her arms at the chest. The detective scratched her head, realising that her anger was completely misplaced; she should be pissed with herself. Her friend did nothing wrong. Sure, her words stung like a bitch, but only because they were true. "God, what do I do now?"

"You have two options. You can start to actually fight off those feelings. Go on a date, get laid, move out… Anything to get your attention off of Sherlock."

"Or?"

"Or you can go all in. No regrets, no fear and second-guessing. You can simply decide that you want him and that you're ready to work hard to get him."

"Easier said than done." Victoria scowled, but Olivia shrugged impassively.

"Maybe. Or maybe it would prove to be easier, than constantly lying to yourself."

Victoria fell silent for a moment, only to finally look up and frown in focus.

"Okay. Let's say I'm going to _be brave_ ," she mocked and shifted on the chair. "What am I supposed to do? He's not going to fall for my _feminine_ charm."

"He's an addict, Vic," Olivia laughed. "He might claim to be uninterested in romance, but you can prove him wrong by showing him how _addictive_ it can be. How addictive _you_ can be."

"That's a ridiculous advice, Liv. I've just told you that…"

"That he's not going to fall for your looks. But you're not just a pretty face, unlike me." Olivia smiled bitterly and leaned forward. "Your mind is what made him interested in the first place. And you can kid yourself all you want, but he doesn't treat you the same way he treats other women. You don't have to do anything special, Vic. All you have to do, is to be yourself, or rather the unsubdued version of yourself –the one that is not afraid to flirt, tease, or bite him if he asks for it."

"I don't want to bite him," she hissed back at her friend, and Olivia chuckled in response.

"Yeah, you do. Both metaphorically _and_ physically."

"Out of all the things I would do to him, biting seems the least important," she said before she could stop herself. As soon as Victoria realised what she'd said, she covered her eyes with her palm and sighed. "I think I'm drunk."

"And here I was, thinking you've finally learned the definition of _fun_."

"No, not really. Unless _fun_ means developing feelings for a sociopath, who's probably a virgin."

Olivia stopped laughing and opened her mouth in disbelief.

"Shit! Are you serious?!"

"I think. I don't know for sure, though."

"Well… If he is, then even I want to fuck him now," Olivia said and smiled, making Victoria frown.

"Why? It only means that having sex with him would be _awkward_ and probably not very satisfying."

"With that attitude… Sure. But if he's a virgin, then you can teach him _everything_ and he won't take it the wrong way. You can dominate, without being kinky… That's kind of hot."

Victoria felt her cheeks warming up, and she cleared her throat, making Olivia chuckle again. Her friend knew that she had planted a vision in Vic's mind… And that vision wouldn't go away quickly.

"Besides, we're talking about a man, who can deduce _everything._ Do you really think that he would be okay with being mediocre in bed, once you've convinced him to do it?"

No, she didn't. And it made said vision even more tempting.

* * *

It looked almost identical to the previous crime scenes. The victim was male, quite young and clearly poor. He was lying on his back with no signs of any injuries, except for the wound on his head that appeared after he had hit the ground. No signs of struggle, no witnesses… _Nothing_. Victoria wanted to scream in frustration. She couldn't find anything that would be even remotely helpful to finally solving this case.

It had been the fourth murder, and the only thing she'd accomplished in between those crimes, was convincing everyone else that those poor blokes didn't kill themselves. Apparently, four suspicious deaths in a row could change anyone's mind. It still didn't bring her -or in fact any of them- closer to solving the mystery.

She was getting sick of it. She was tired of _not knowing,_ and the killer had no intentions of improving her mood. Actually, he was getting bolder and bolder. How else could she describe killing someone in broad daylight? The body hadn't been found before the nightfall, but the initial evaluation said that the victim had been dead for a couple of hours.

Victoria looked around, noticing few figures standing in the windows. People were getting worried, even here, in one of the most dangerous districts. Everyone was used to minding their own business, but those murders changed the situation. The killer targeted seemingly innocent people, and he was self-assured enough to kill them in the middle of the day. And no one could do anything to stop him, or even identify him.

"Bloody hell…" She muttered, rubbing her forehead. If she hadn't already had a gigantic headache, she would definitely have it _now_. "We don't have any evidence, right?"

"No. Nothing," Anderson answered and crouched down next to the body. "Why does he keep on killing? What does he get from it?"

"Maybe he just wants to get off." Victoria shrugged and looked around once more, hoping to spot anything that could prove helpful.

Suddenly, her whole body stiffened, when her eyes landed upon a tall figure lurking in the alleyway. She squinted, trying to see better, but the shadow was gone and she found herself questioning her sanity.

"I don't know. He doesn't seem like the type," Anderson said, but she didn't pay attention to him.

"Yeah. Um, I'm going to see if we haven't missed anything." She smiled and touched her gun, just to make sure it was really there.

If Anderson was weirded out by her behaviour, he didn't say a word. He simply let her walk away into the dark alleyway. Victoria partially wanted him to go with her, just so that she wouldn't have to step into the darkness all by herself, but the idea of showing him her weakness didn't sound exactly thrilling. With a raging heart, she stepped into the alleyway and looked around, trying to see anything.

It looked perfectly normal and undeniably empty. Victoria let out a shaky breath and took a couple of steps further, trying to convince herself that her eyes had played a trick on her. She almost screamed, when a hand clamped itself over her mouth and she was pulled back, finding herself pressed against someone else's body. Instantly, she felt ready to fight for her life and she started to squirm, trying to call out for help.

"It's me, Victoria. Don't move." Sherlock's voice sounded right next to her ear, and she froze, overwhelmed with relief and anger at the same time. For a moment, the wind blew slightly harder and she felt that her cheeks were wet. "No one can know I'm here, so you need to be quiet. Can you promise me that?"

No, she bloody couldn't. Victoria wanted to turn around and rip all of his hair out. Did he know how scared she was? He had to. He knew everything. Why would he decide to scare her like that? He could be such a prick sometimes…

Despite her anger, she nodded reluctantly, expecting Sherlock's hand to move. It didn't, which made her squirm again.

"Stop," he said once more, this time more decisively, forcing her to listen. "Before I let you go, you have to hear what I came here to say. I knew the victim. I can tell you that he was a recovering drug addict and that he was, in fact, quite innocent. His only fault was being born with sorry excuses for parents. He didn't deserve to be murdered. None of the victims did."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing Sherlock's hand and pushing it away from her face. If he wanted to talk _business_ , she could postpone her anger. She definitely couldn't allow him to keep touching her and pressing her against his body. Nah-ah. That _definitely_ wasn't a good thing for her current state of mind.

"How the hell did you know him?" she whispered, turning around to look at him. Victoria's jaw almost hit the floor when she realised that she had never seen Sherlock Holmes look _this_ bad. Even in darkness, she could see deep circles underneath his eyes. His usually unruly, but surprisingly stylish hair, was now in tangles. He also wasn't wearing his coat with a ridiculously expensive suit underneath. Instead, he was dressed in an oversized hoodie. "Oh. My. God."

Sherlock covered her mouth again, sending her an angry glance.

"This is not the time to discuss _this_ ," he hissed. "I need you to keep your temper on a short leash, Victoria. There's a murderer on the loose."

She tried to say something, but his hand made it impossible. Actually, any attempts to talk would end up with _kissing his palm_. Since she had no intentions of doing that, she restrained to shooting him murderous glares.

"The connection between the victims is obvious. The killer clearly hates that they were trying to do something with their life, which is why he decided to carry out these killings in such a manner. I believe that the best way to find him, would be to search for his _hunting_ area."

Victoria grabbed his hand again and pushed it away. This time, her fingers clamped down on his palm, not wanting to allow him to move it again. They were basically hand-holding, but she wasn't about to get excited. She was bloody pissed.

"Sherlock, you've been gone for weeks. Are you really trying to say that you've been getting _high_ all this time?" she asked coldly, making him roll his eyes.

"I have a very good reason, Victoria! This is for a case! Probably one of the most important I'll ever have."

"Right. You're getting high for a case," she mocked and slapped his arm with her free hand. "Tell me, mister, which case could possibly require _ruining_ your own body?!"

"Shhhh! Quiet, woman!" he hissed back and pulled her deeper into the alleyway. "I'm solving your case _for you_. Shouldn't you be grateful, instead of talking about the things you have no idea about?!"

"That's because you haven't told me anything. Oh, and it's also because you're full of shit, Sherlock! You can't just use my trust, so you could get high in peace!"

"Don't insult my intelligence. I know what I'm doing and I'm not going to stop just because you decided to throw a tantrum."

Well, he probably wasn't going to stop doing it either way. It didn't mean that she couldn't be pissed at him for being so reckless and plain _stupid_.

"Fine. Let me just ask, what does your _girlfriend_ have to say about this? Is she a junkie as well?" Victoria asked mockingly and Sherlock sighed.

"She's my _pretend_ girlfriend. And she doesn't have anything to say, because she doesn't know."

"What?! How can she not know?! You look like a hobo!"

"And here you are, being jealous over a _hobo_ ," Sherlock said and smirked, while Victoria clenched his hand so hard that his smile disappeared very quickly.

"I'm not jealous, you idiot. I'm worried about you," she mumbled, scowling at her own confession. Sure enough, Victoria _might have been_ a bit jealous overall, but not in that moment. No, right now she just wanted to punch him in those perfectly chiselled cheekbones.

Sherlock opened his mouth and blinked a couple of times, suddenly looking completely baffled. Victoria felt her anger starting to dissipate, seeing his ridiculous expression, but she decided to be strong for once, and not let his awkwardness win her over.

"Oh," he said after a moment, weakening her resolve. "I wasn't aware of…"

"Of what, Sherlock? It should be rather obvious that I care about you. I thought you knew." She shrugged and smiled. "You know everything."

He frowned, staring at her intently for another minute, until she had finally sighed and shook her head.

"Who's wasting time now?" Victoria asked, but Sherlock didn't react. She almost couldn't believe that he wasn't aware of her… feelings. Well, at least part of it. He had to know she respected him on a professional level, but their relations stopped being simply professional a while ago. Maybe she had troubles noticing or admitting that, but Olivia opened her eyes. Sherlock's had never been closed to begin with.

"You've said that you didn't love me," Sherlock answered, surprising her completely.

"I don't. What does it have to do with anything?" She crossed her arms and frowned, looking at him intently.

"But you care about me."

"Of course I do, Sherlock. I don't have to love you to do that," Vic snorted and smiled. "I even consider you my friend, when you're not acting like a prick."

"Oh," he said and then his eyes widened considerably. "Oh!"

"Yeah, genius. Maybe if you weren't high, you'd stop being so thick about all of this."

"But I've read that friendship between a man and woman is not possible. It always ends up with…"

"Bullshit," Victoria interrupted him, rolling her eyes. "No stupid phrases can tell me what is possible and what isn't. I can actually treat you as a friend without wanting to jump you."

It was, obviously, very far from the truth, at least in this case, but Sherlock didn't have to know that. Not after she had told him that she wasn't in love with him. Not after she claimed that she wouldn't let him experiment on her.

"So… we're friends," Sherlock stated after a moment and she shrugged.

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Mm."

Silence fell between them and Victoria decided that she absolutely hated it. Sherlock's gaze felt almost painful, as it tried to pry holes in her mind. He probably had no idea what to think about this conversation, but she did. It was bonkers. Being friends with Sherlock Holmes felt completely irrational, and she still hadn't come to terms that her stupid heart might have even wanted something more.

"You're still pissed at me, aren't you?" Sherlock asked after a moment and she sighed.

"Obviously. And unless you tell me the truth, it won't change."

"You know I won't."

She simply nodded and scowled. Even if he was able to understand the importance of their relations, he still wouldn't budge. Nothing could _make him_ change his mind. In all of the honesty, Victoria knew that he had to have a good reason for his silence. Holmes wasn't the one to do something just out of spite.

"Would it be too much to ask you to trust me?" Sherlock said again and she looked up to find him staring at her with a frown.

"Would you care if it was?"

"Yes."

"Do you say so only because that's what I want to hear?" She smirked at him, but Sherlock shook his head.

"No. I'm saying this, because I'm high."

Oh, great. Apparently, drugs were the only thing that could put him in touch with his emotions. God, she was so screwed…

"Fine. I'll take it," she muttered and turned around, wanting to walk away. Anderson was probably sick with worry already, and she couldn't let him see her with Holmes.

She stopped, when she felt Sherlock's cold fingers wrap themselves around her wrist –firmly, but not painfully. Victoria fought the urge to bit her lip, as shivers ran up her spine, when his skin touched hers. Instead, she looked back at him and found him with a serious expression.

"I… I wish I could be high without the drugs," he said quietly and let go of her hand, pulling up his hoodie. It hid his face from the view, leaving her longing to see it one more time, but Sherlock had walked away.

Victoria decided that it was probably for the best. Because if she could look into his eyes again, she'd say those two words that would change everything.

 _Me too._

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ I'm sorry it took me so long to write this chapter, but my life is crazy lately. I don't want to give you lousy content, so I'd rather take the time to actually make my work good, than update sooner. I hope that you agree :)**

 **KittyBear98:** **I'm glad you liked the chapter! You're right, feelings are really difficult, which is why I hope I'm doing this right haha. Sherlock is complicated and it's so hard to make him believably fall in love... It stresses me out so much! But it will be fun to continue writing about his experiment! Thank you for reading :)**

 **AvaFyre:** **Yeah, the twist is definitely there. I love the slow burn, slow romance, but it has to start sometime, right? I'm glad you think I found a subtle way to do it :) Thanks!**

 **Marianagmt:** **I promise to include more of this bonding time between Vic and the characters from the cannon. It felt really nice to write that scene :) And that experiment is definitely going to backfire on Sherlock. This is the only area, where Sherlock is not exactly brilliant, and he's going to learn it the hard way. Thank you for reading and reviewing :)**


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: I had to cut this chapter short, because I don't know when I'm going to be able to finish it, and I wanted to give you something :) Almost 5 k words sounds like an alright amount, so I just went for it :) I know that most of this chapter is based off of the series, but, as always, I've tried to put my own twist to it and I promise you -it is very important :)**

 **Red red red** **ribbon: I'm glad you're loving this story. It makes my heart grow :)**

 **emiliasuchodolsky:** **This is actually the biggest compliment you could have given me :) I spend a lot of time, trying to make Sherlock as realistic as possible, which often ends in me rewriting the chapters multiple times, so I'm so so so happy to know that my works has paid off :) I hope you're going to keep loving this story! :)**

 **Jaygrl22:** **Thank you for your lovely review :) It means a lot to me to know that my story is good enough to keep you interested! I hope you'll enjoy the chapter ^^**

* * *

The day started off pretty normally. Victoria arrived at the office with coffee in her hand, she exchanged greetings with a couple of her co-workers and she sat at her desk with a miserable expression. Paperwork had never been her favourite thing on Earth, but today it seemed even worse. The day was _beautiful,_ despite the autumn chill. The sun shone bright and Victoria couldn't help, but to feel terrible at the thought that she had to spend the entire day at the office. Stopping herself from glancing outside the window every five second proved to be _extremely_ difficult.

Victoria really wished for the situation to change, but she had never expected to be rescued by Philip Anderson, who'd run into the room and stopped at her desk.

"We need to go," he stated firmly, preparing to run out of the room again, but Victoria was too confused to follow him.

"What is going on, Anderson?" she asked and frowned. "I have work to do."

The man stopped and looked at her with fury. Fury, that definitely couldn't have been directed at her.

"John had found Sherlock," he said and clenched his fists, making Victoria's mouth fly open. "In a _drug den_."

Well, she couldn't say that these news surprised her, but she still had to act like it. She froze on the spot and stared at Anderson with shock, trying not to think that lying to her co-workers and everyone else felt really _bad_.

"What?" she stuttered out, while Philip waved his hands frantically.

"No time, Victoria! I'll tell you everything on the way. Mr Holmes is counting on us!"

 _Mr Holmes_? Oh no… He must have meant Mycroft. Victoria didn't even have to fake her displeasure upon hearing about Sherlock's brother, because her muscles moved on their own, turning her face into one big scowl. Why would Mycroft need them? How did he even…

Of course. John. He must have called Mycroft as soon as he had found Sherlock in a state of… indisposition. Dr Watson wasn't a fan of the older Holmes, but when it came to his best friend's well-being, everything else stopped to matter. And if he suspected that Sherlock was using again… Yep, Mycroft really was the best choice.

She stood up and followed Anderson, without uttering another word. It wasn't difficult to figure out the rest of the story; Mycroft probably wanted to search Sherlock's house, while he was still with John. Victoria could see the logic in that, but it wasn't enough to explain the other thing that was bugging her. Why did Mycroft call Anderson?

"Did Mycroft tell you to bring me?" she asked after a while, getting into the elevator and pushing the button a couple of times, as if it could speed up the process of closing the doors.

"No. He said I should bring someone from Sherlock's fan club, but we both know that you're his biggest fan."

Victoria looked at him with a scowl, but didn't say a word. Anderson's statement was ridiculous in a way, because she definitely wasn't the one to sit in a room with other people, trying to come up with the most plausible theory to explain Sherlock's fake death. She also wasn't running around, offering herself to Sherlock at every occasion. Victoria doubted that Anderson meant to suggest something like _this_. He meant that she admired his brilliance more than anyone, and that she cared for him. And she couldn't really dispute with that statement.

"Philip… I don't think that Mycroft is going to appreciate my presence. He and I… We're not on the best terms," she said cautiously, but Anderson just shrugged.

"Mycroft might hate you all he wants, but when it comes to Sherlock's well-being, he'll be able to understand your value."

Victoria sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead. She sure hoped that Philip was right, because she really didn't want to go into a fight with Mycroft Holmes. Not again. She had enough problems on her own, and pissing off Sherlock's brother would only make things harder. Especially if he had found out about her… _sentiment_. She couldn't let that happen.

* * *

Rummaging through Sherlock's things felt… inappropriate and weirdly intimate. Victoria developed a headache after a very short while, because she couldn't stop her own thoughts from spinning like crazy. Touching his books, checking every shelve… God, it felt like such a violation of trust and privacy. If Sherlock was the one to do that to her, she'd probably bite his head off. Okay, maybe she wouldn't be that bad, considering the fact that he had already broken into her place _multiple_ times, but it was different. Sherlock didn't understand the implications of his actions, but she _did_. She knew how wrong it was to do all those things. And she still had to do them.

The fact that Mycroft Holmes had watched her every move did nothing to help. Actually, it made her uneasy as hell, because she couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder and checking her step. He hadn't said anything to her, since she'd walked into the room, but his cold gaze was… _meaningful_ , to say the least. Mycroft clearly hadn't forgotten about their first conversation, and everything that came after. Hell, he probably even knew that Victoria wasn't entirely convinced about her earlier views anymore. She definitely started to see how dangerous Sherlock really was.

"The bedroom door is closed," Anderson's voice forced Victoria to turn around and leave her gloom thoughts behind.

Philip tried to turn the door knob one more time, but it didn't budge. He faced Mycroft and an expression of genuine worry appeared on his face.

"He's really using, isn't he?"

"Yes, that's very likely," Mycroft said coldly and glanced sideways towards Victoria. "I presume you haven't noticed any disconcerting details during your shared time?"

She couldn't help, but to feel as if he had just called her an idiot, only with prettier words. Her lips tightened for a moment, before she'd managed to put up a sweet smile.

"Actually, I haven't seen Sherlock for almost a month," she said, while Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"And you didn't find it suspicious?"

"He's Sherlock. I'm not his babysitter, and even if I was, he could probably outsmart me without breaking a sweat."

"Yes, he probably would." Mycroft offered her a tight smile, which had nothing to do with happiness. Actually, Victoria decided that it was one of the most frightening expressions a man could put up. "I'm going to wait for them downstairs. Continue with the search, although I doubt you'll find anything in this mess." He looked around with disgust, making Victoria roll her eyes with exasperation.

That man was such a snob… Sherlock obviously didn't care for order, but 221B Baker Street had such an amazing atmosphere mostly because of his tendencies for chaos. Victoria almost couldn't believe how different the Holmes' brothers were. She briefly wondered how would Mycroft react to the news of Sherlock seeing a woman, but she quickly dismissed those thoughts, knowing that they couldn't get her anywhere.

She watched Mycroft leave the room, and then a sigh escaped her mouth, catching Anderson's attention.

"Are you okay?" he asked, after a moment of hesitation and she looked at him with a serious expression.

"Well, no. I hate being here and rummaging through Sherlock's stuff. And Mycroft… He makes me weary."

"You know that we're doing it for…"

"Sherlock's well-being. Yeah, I get that," Victoria finished for him, averting her gaze. "It doesn't mean I have to like it."

She turned around and walked up to the window, trying to muster the strength to get back to her dreadful task. To her surprise, she noticed John standing next to a cab, which meant that Sherlock must have already moved forward. Indeed, a sound of the door opening reached her ears a moment later and Victoria swallowed hard, knowing that the upcoming minutes were probably going to be incredibly uncomfortable and filled with heavy tension. She turned around towards Anderson and walked up to him, not wanting Sherlock to see her right after he'd entered the room.

Philip seemed unaware of what was going on downstairs; he was busy searching one of the cupboards. After a moment, he closed it and called:

"Mr Holmes?" Victoria scowled, sending him a harsh look and he raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing…" she muttered back and hugged herself, when she heard Sherlock's footsteps get nearer and nearer. Finally, he stopped right outside the kitchen and glanced at Philip with fury painted all over his face. He seemed not to notice her and Victoria felt grateful for that.

"Anderson," he said angrily, forcing Philip to raise his hands apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good."

Sherlock entered the kitchen and dropped his keys onto the table, while his eyes had finally landed on Victoria.

"And what are _you_ doing here?" he asked right away. Victoria couldn't stop herself from thinking that he sounded incredibly tense, even considering the situation he had found himself in.

"Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat," Mycroft answered, entering the kitchen as well and looking at Sherlock, whose gaze was still fixed at Victoria.

"Since when are you in my fan-club?" he asked and raised his eyebrows.

"Am not. Philip asked me to come and I did." Vic shrugged in response, averting her gaze. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sherlock was –indeed- high. He looked even worse than he did on the night of their last meeting. Or maybe he didn't? Maybe it was just a matter of lighting. Still, Victoria didn't want to look at him. Not in that state.

Sherlock turned around, apparently accepting her answer, and he walked up to his chair, curling in it like a spoiled child.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit." Irony seeping from Mycroft's words forced his brother to open his eyes and look at him with irritation.

"I do not _have_ a drug habit."

"Hey, what happened to my chair?" Victoria was almost surprised to hear John's voice, as her attention was completely focused on the power-play between the Holmes' brothers. She didn't know if he was trying to relieve the tension, but his comment made her smile with amusement.

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen," Sherlock answered.

"Well, it's good to be missed."

"Well, you were _gone_. I saw an opportunity."

"No, you saw the kitchen."

Victoria snorted, catching everyone's attention. She didn't know what was worse; Mycroft's cold gaze, Sherlock's crazy one, or John's –filled with satisfaction of making such a terrific joke. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Mycroft stopped glaring at her and looked at Anderson instead.

"What have you found so far? Clearly nothing."

"There's nothing to find," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and forcing his brother to smile with pity in his eyes.

"Your bedroom door is shut." Mycroft started to move toward the hallway and Sherlock tensed a bit. "You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man, who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother, bother to do so on this occasion?"

"Okay, stop! Just stop!" Sherlock called out, but it didn't stop Mycroft. He grasped the door knob, turned it, but nothing happened. "Point made."

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John said, while Mycroft released the knob and came back to the kitchen.

"Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing."

Sherlock didn't look bothered by Mycroft's threat. He simply stood up and sighed, walking closer to his brother.

"This is not what you think. This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify this?"

"Magnussen. Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Suddenly, the tension in the room became almost unbearable. Victoria felt chills running down her spine, which only intensified when Sherlock's gaze slipped from Mycroft and landed on her, meeting her eyes with a great force. Mycroft, as though he was unaware of their eye-contact, turned around and mustered his most frightening expression.

"That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply – just look frightened and scuttle."

Anderson ushered her to leave, but Sherlock frowned and said:

"No. She's not going anywhere."

"Brother mine…"

" _No!"_ Sherlock screamed and looked up towards the ceiling. "She's my assistant and I'm going to tell her everything anyway, whether you like it or not."

Mycroft didn't say a word, but it was enough to let Victoria know that she could stay in the room without risking her own safety. Anderson offered her a meaningful look, before he'd left the apartment, but she was too dumfounded to care. How could she not be, when her stupid heart wouldn't stop drumming against her ribs with excitement?

"I hope I won't have to threaten you as well." Mycroft said to John, making the doctor smile with amusement.

"Well, I think we'd both find _that_ embarrassing."

Sherlock snorted and looked away, only worsening Mycroft's mood.

"Magnussen is not your business."

"Oh, you mean he's _yours_." Sherlock pointed his finger at his brother and smiled viciously.

"You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under his thumb."

Victoria decided that no matter how much she hated the fact that Sherlock was using -seeing him high had its perks. She had no doubts that he might have handled this conversation entirely different, if he was his usual self. Nonetheless, watching him stick it to Mycroft felt weirdly _cleansing._ She had troubles stopping herself from offering everyone popcorn.

"If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against _me_ ," Mycroft threatened, but Sherlock ignored him completely.

"Okay, I'll let you know if I notice." He walked up to the door and stopped, seemingly deep in thought. "Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye."

Mycroft stood still for a moment, looking at his brother, who was now pointing to the exit. Finally, he said:

"Unwise, brother mine."

Victoria gasped, when suddenly Sherlock seized Mycroft's forearm and twisted it, slamming him against the wall. She wanted to jump to the rescue, but John stopped her, hurrying to Mycroft's side first.

"Brother mine, don't appal me when I'm high," Sherlock breathed out, sounding positively crazy. Victoria couldn't help, but to think that his voice, even if venomous and filled with anger, sounded _incredible_. That thought was so stupid, though, that she scowled in embarrassment. The situation was hardly appropriate for such nonsenses.

"Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might." John's voice was calm, but Victoria wasn't sure if it was enough to talk Sherlock down. She walked up to them and put her hand on Sherlock's shoulder, feeling his muscles tense even more and then relax, allowing Mycroft to free himself.

Sherlock turned around and walked away, but not before he looked at her briefly and offered her the slightest nod. Victoria wanted to smile, but stopped herself from doing so, when she'd noticed Mycroft's furious expression.

"Don't speak. Just leave," John said again and then he bent down, picking up Mycroft's umbrella.

In a moment, he was gone, leaving the three of them alone. Victoria turned around, looking at Sherlock, who was stretching and rubbing his neck. He was back to being calm, or as calm as a high person could be. Something about that sudden change of his attitude made her feel weary. Maybe it was the fact that it differed from his usual instability; she was used to his mood swings, to his crazy behaviour, but this… this was wild and scary in a way.

"Do you want to tell us more about Magnussen?" she asked quietly, but he ignored her.

"What time is it?" he said instead and scowled, when he inhaled deeply and realised that he really needed to shower.

"About eight," John said, watching him carefully.

"I'm meeting him in three hours. I need a bath."

Just like that, he walked through the kitchen into the hallway, leaving Victoria with John. They exchanged disturbed glances, but did nothing to stop him.

"It's for a case, you said?" John asked, trying to maintain conversation.

"Yep."

"What sort of a case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"You trying to put us off?" Watson sounded confused, and Victoria couldn't help, but to share that feeling.

"God, no. I'm trying to recruit you, _John_."

Victoria opened her mouth in disbelief. John?! What about _her_?

"Sherlock, I'm here, you know!" she said, but he ignored her, disappearing into the bathroom.

"And stay out of my bedroom!" he yelled, causing John to do the exact opposite.

Victoria still couldn't process the fact that Sherlock decided to _exclude_ her from his big and dangerous case, after he had just defended her in Mycroft's presence. What was his deal? Why would he do something like that? It couldn't have been the issue of trust. Right?

Her thoughts got interrupted suddenly, when the bedroom door opened, stopping John from moving forward. Victoria opened her mouth in shock, looking at the woman, who exited the room, with shock. This couldn't be happening. Sherlock couldn't have been dating _her_ this entire time. But… How else could she explain Janine's presence in his bedroom? His _bedroom_. Oh, God…

"Oh, John, hi!" Janine said, tugging at the bottom of the shirt she was wearing. Radcliffe couldn't be sure, but it definitely looked like something Sherlock could have worn. Suddenly, Victoria felt sick to her stomach. "How are you?"

"Janine?" John stuttered out with disbelief, apparently sharing Victoria's shock.

"Sorry. Not dressed," the woman giggled and started to walk towards the kitchen. She stopped, as soon as her gaze had landed on Victoria.

If Vicky wanted to find a more awkward memory in the depth of her mind… She'd have to look _very_ intensely.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I don't think we know each other," she stated brightly, but Victoria could see the surprise in her eyes. She clearly didn't expect to meet another woman in Sherlock's flat.

"Um, yeah. I'm Victoria. Victoria Radcliffe. I'm…"

"You're that detective that Sherlock works with sometimes!" Janine smiled and extended her hand towards Victoria, leaving her no choice but to squeeze it in a polite gesture. No matter how much she didn't want to do that, Vicky couldn't find a reason to hate her. Openly, at least. "Nice to meet you. I'm Janine, but I'm sure you know that already."

"Why would she?" John asked and frown, looking at the exchange with a baffled expression.

"Because of the wedding photos, of course. You had to see them," Janine said and smiled. "Anyway… Has everybody gone? I heard shouting."

"Yes, they're gone," John answered, while Victoria tried to do everything in her power to not run out of the flat. Her heart was racing, and her stomach started to hurt.

Sherlock was dating Janine. The same Janine, whom he described as shallow and obviously not smart. Out of all the women out there, he chose someone who was so ordinary and so… Shit, so _pretty_ that Victoria wanted to barge into the bathroom and hit him. He claimed not to care about that. He claimed that…

Suddenly, her anger dissipated, when she realised the reason for Sherlock's interest in Janine. He outright told her that Mary's Maid of Honor was just a tool. She didn't mean anything, and Holmes' texts only proved that theory. Victoria looked at Janine and all she could feel was… _pity._ No matter how shallow and naïve that woman was, she didn't deserve to be used and thrown out like a broken toy. And Vic could blame Sherlock all she wanted, but the truth was, she did nothing to stop it from happening.

"God, look at the time. I'll be late." Janine sighed and walked into the kitchen, passing John on her way. "It sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?"

"Mike?" both Victoria and John asked simultaneously, causing Janine to frown.

"Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They're always fighting."

"You mean _Mycroft_ ," Victoria stated cautiously, trying not to imagine Janine calling the older Holmes _Mike_. God, it would be so hilarious… and it would probably get her thrown into jail. Despite the pity she felt for the woman, Victoria couldn't stop the evil part of herself from thinking that it would be the solution to all of her problems.

"Do people actually call him that?"

"Um, yeah," John answered, looking at Victoria with mild amusement –one that she couldn't help, but share.

"Huh! Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"

One thing was sure. Janine had the cheek. John must have noticed it too, because he hesitated, before muttering something in response and starting to look for the coffee.

Victoria sat down at the table, trying not to pay attention to Janine's outfit -which was ridiculously skimpy- or the small talk she had with John. Instead, she focused on her own chaotic thoughts, which balanced between ideas driven by jealousy and guilt at the same time. The fact that there was a woman standing in Sherlock's kitchen, clad only in his shirt, _hurt._ Actually, it stung like a bitch, even though it wasn't supposed to, for more than one reason. Janine was his _fake_ girlfriend –one he didn't love. He probably didn't even care about her. Victoria knew that it made her a victim, rather than someone who deserved hatred, but she couldn't stop herself from _feeling_. And said feelings were the second reason for her anger.

Did she really allow herself to fall _this_ deep into this mess? Jealousy could only mean one thing, after all; no matter how hard she tried to back out, she simply couldn't. Sooner or later, she'd have to face those treacherous feelings and admit that there might be no coming back to the way things were before. She'd really have to go _all in_ , just as Olivia suggested, and she'd probably have to live with being rejected for the rest of her life.

Her thoughts got interrupted once again, when Janine opened her mouth and, with a bright smile, said:

"Where's Sherl?"

Victoria looked at her and snorted; partly in disbelief, partly in amusement. He bloody hated being called _that_. She had noticed it on more than one occasion. Hell, she _invented_ that stupid pet nickname. How could she not know that? Was Sherlock such a tremendous actor?

"Is something funny?"

"Um, no. Sherlock's taking a bath. He's probably going to be there for eternity." Victoria shrugged and looked away, not wanting to face Janine, who suddenly started to seem tense.

"How would you know that?" she asked, trying to keep a nice tone, but Victoria didn't have trouble picking up on the hostility in her voice.

"I work with him. He's left me hanging a couple of times, because he wanted to take a bath," she answered and scowled, wanting to make it look more believable. What was she supposed to say anyway? That she'd spent a lot of time in Sherlock's flat and that she'd known most of his habits? That wouldn't exactly help his relationship, and no matter how much she hated it, he _needed_ it for some reason.

"Right," Janine said and smiled sweetly. "I think I'm going to join him then. I can't be late for work again."

With that, she walked away, leaving both John and Victoria with open mouths. Seeing Janine in Sherlock's shirt, coming out of his bedroom, was one thing. But to watch her knock on the bathroom door and walk right inside, not waiting for an answer… That was something entirely different. And Victoria wasn't sure if she really wanted to take it. If she _could_ take it.

"Morning! Room for a little one?" Janine chirped sweetly, and they could hear Sherlock _giggle_ in response.

"Morning," he answered flirtatiously, making John shake his head in disbelief.

The door closed behind Janine. It was much more difficult to hear anything now, but Victoria could still pick up on the sounds of splashing water and laughter.

"Unbelievable," John said after a short while, and Victoria forced herself to nod, even though her head felt heavy as a ball of concrete. "Did you know about that?"

"No. I didn't," she answered and, in all honesty, it didn't feel like a lie. Because no text messages and no preparation could have made her ready for _that_.

Victoria wanted to laugh, because she realised how _stupid_ she really was. Relationships might have been a vague concept to her, but she knew that they all worked in a similar way. A way that required the couple to actually _act_ like it. So why was she surprised to see Sherlock and Janine to behave like this?

Oh, it was simple. She didn't expect it, because Sherlock claimed that it meant nothing, that he was doing this only to reach his own goal. All of this might have been true… But it also made Victoria think that this entire relationship wasn't _real_. Or more accurately, that it would look nothing like a healthy, normal one. And she was in for a big shock and disappointment.

From the looks of it, the advice she had given to Sherlock, had worked like a charm. Janine seemed completely enamoured with him, parading around in his clothes, giggling about it like a schoolgirl. Victoria really wanted to feel proud because of it, but the only thing she felt was guilt and anger.

She felt guilty, because that woman's dream was about to get destroyed. She felt anger, because… Because even though Sherlock's feelings for Janine were fake, the woman had still experienced more than Victoria could ever dream of. Even if she had found the way to convince Sherlock to actually give it a try, a _real try_ , Victoria would also be getting the real Holmes –the one, who didn't giggle and allow her to call him _Sherl_. She would never get as much affection and _love_ as Janine.

And that thought… That thought made her heart crumble to a million pieces.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: Am I spoiling you, or what? I honestly didn't think I could write another chapter on such a short notice, but I did and I'm suuuper excited! We're picking up right where we left off, which doesn't happen a lot in my story :)**

 **I also wanted to ask you a question. Would you like if I decided to write a chapter entirely from Sherlock's perspective? I thought it would be interesting to try, but I don't want to spoil the story that was written from Victoria's POV up until this point. Let me know! :)**

 **AvaFyre:** **Thank you so much! I must say, I love those last two paragraphs as well. I got chills when I wrote them, so I'm glad that you share my opinion. I hope you'll like this one as well :)**

 **Amelia** **Novak:** **Oh wow, thank you! I've been working really hard to make this story entirely my own. I'm happy that it shows! And by all means -revisit your story! I'd love to read it sometime :)**

* * *

Watching Sherlock and Janine come out of the bathroom was truly dreadful. Well, she wasn't technically looking at them, since the position of her favourite couch she was currently lying on, made it impossible. But even hearing Janine's high pitched laugh and Sherlock's rich, sultry voice… It drove her absolutely crazy.

Victoria was really surprised that her face wasn't as red as a beet, because the emotions swirling around her body were pretty darn _intense_. Anger, jealousy, guilt, anxiousness… God, she couldn't even decide, which one of those was dominating. Maybe that confusion allowed her to remain so calm and stare at the ceiling with an impassive expression on her face.

The fact that John tried to maintain small talk didn't help. Victoria knew that her answers were vague and pretty noncommittal, but she just couldn't do anything to muster more enthusiasm. Not when another sound of a splash reached her ears, along with Janine's laughter. She started to bloody hate the woman, even though she really didn't deserve that. Falling for the wrong guy wasn't a crime after all. Victoria –unfortunately- began to understand that all too well.

Finally, the sounds stopped and the _couple_ exited the bathroom. Both of them were fully dressed and pleasantly _glowing_. Suddenly, Victoria decided that she had photophobia.

Sherlock walked across the kitchen and entered the living room, putting on his jacket and smiling lightly. It instantly made John's face light up with a smile of his own, while Victoria tried not to flinch, when Holmes' gaze landed on her for a brief moment.

"So –it's just a guess, but you've probably got some questions," Sherlock said, crossing the living room with long strides.

"Yeah, one or two, pretty much," John answered ironically, but didn't stop smiling.

"Naturally." He turned around, glancing towards the kitchen and Victoria sighed, knowing that he had a reason for doing so. This time, his reason was at least dressed.

"You have a girlfriend?" John asked with disbelief, which made Victoria snort. What a stupid question to ask, really. It was _Sherlock_. Obviously, if he had willingly shared a bath with a woman, she must have been special. Or especially dumb, for not seeing how manipulated she truly was.

"Yes, I have." Sherlock's answer was pretty straightforward, but when he glanced again towards the kitchen and his expression became serious, Victoria had no doubts that he didn't really want to answer more questions on that topic. John's grin, on the other hand, meant that he would _have to_ , whether he liked it or not. "Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark – it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John – stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes... That's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Victoria got chills all over her body, after hearing Sherlock's words. They forced her to sit up, staring at Holmes with intent and hoping that she would get even more information. John, however, seemed not to have heard a word his Best Man just said.

"Yes, you have."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock blinked a couple of times, completely dumbfounded.

"You have a girlfriend."

"What? Yes! Yes, I'm going out with Janine. I thought that was _fairly_ obvious."

Oh, yeah, he didn't have to remind them of _that_. Victoria scowled slightly, but Sherlock noticed it anyway and sent her a curious look. Fortunately, Watson still wasn't done with his idiotic questions.

"Yes. Well… yes. But I mean, you, you, you… are in a relationship?"

God, he could be such a cute moron. Victoria wanted to simultaneously smile and sigh deeply, but she knew that her reaction would probably be similar, if she hadn't known about that beforehand.

"Yes, I am."

"You and Janine?"

"Mmm, yes. Me and Janine."

"Care to elaborate?"

Judging by the exasperated look Sherlock had sent her, he didn't care to elaborate, but John's intrusive glare wasn't going to disappear until he got the answers he craved.

"Well, we're in a good place. It's um… _very affirming_."

Victoria raised her eyebrows, realising that he had quoted one of the things she _forbade_ him to say. It sounded like the advice he could get in one of those ridiculous dating books. Oh, right. That's probably where he got that.

"You got that from a book," John scoffed, as if on cue, and Victoria felt the need to jump to Sherlock's rescue. Anger, or no anger, she couldn't let Dr Watson see through Holmes' lie. Not yet, anyway.

"Everyone got that from a book," she said and realised that Sherlock had done the exact same thing.

Victoria couldn't actually believe it, but Sherlock looked at her and _smiled_ –genuinely. It was such a weird expression to see on his face that she instantly gazed through the window. She could still _feel_ that he hadn't looked away and it made her skin itch.

The detective was fairly sure that even John had to catch the sudden tension that filled the air, but he didn't get a chance to say anything. Janine walked into the room, with a bright smile, and stopped in front of Sherlock.

"Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves," she chirped, sitting down on one of the chair's arms. Victoria cleared her throat, smiling sweetly and forcing Janine to acknowledge her presence. "Oh, sorry, Victoria! I didn't know you were still here."

She shrugged, watching Janine lean closer to Sherlock's face, with growing tension of her muscles.

"And you, _Sherl_ , you're gonna have to tell me where you were last night."

"Working," Sherlock answered immediately, causing John to stop smiling.

"Working. Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?" Janine asked and Victoria couldn't stop herself from opening her mouth in shock.

Oh, God… Sherlock actually _listened_ to her advice, didn't he? He actually managed to make Janine feel like the only girl in the world, like someone _special_. Bloody hell.

"Don't you go letting on," he answered softly and touched the tip of her nose with the most delicate gesture, making Victoria want to gauge her eyes out. That poor girl… She had no idea how much trouble and hurt she was in for.

Shit. Vic really needed to decide whether she hated Janine, or felt for her, because those mood swings weren't good for her health. They weren't good for _anything_.

Once Janine managed to tear her eyes away from her _boyfriend_ , she looked at John.

"I haven't told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her."

"Yeah, you probably will," John laughed in response.

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!"

"Yeah!" Sherlock added, very convincingly in Victoria's opinion. He looked at her and opened his mouth again, but the detective shook her head slightly, knowing that he wanted to invite her as well –which was a tragic idea for many reasons.

" _My_ place, though –not the scuzz-dump!"

Seeing Holmes laugh after his house had just been called _that_ was absolutely terrifying and Victoria couldn't decide _why._ Was it because he had managed to do it absolutely effortlessly, or was it because no one should ever talk that way about Baker Street? Either way, Radcliffe counted to ten to calm herself, before she was able to smile again.

"Great, yeah! Dinner!" John agreed, somewhat surprised, but not appalled with the idea. Did he really think that Sherlock would be able to go on a double date? Because that's what a dinner for _four_ was, basically.

Wait. Did Sherlock even know that to begin with?

"Oh, I'd better dash. It was brilliant to see you!" Janine stood up and smoothed out her skirt.

"You too!" John replied and followed into Janine's and Sherlock's footsteps. Victoria decided that she'd rather lie down again, than stand up and have a better view on the couple's goodbyes.

"Have a lovely day. Call me later," Sherlock asked Janine, once they'd stopped on the threshold.

"I might do. I _might_ call you –unless I meet someone prettier."

Victoria would love to acknowledge how ridiculous that statement was, and she might have even done it, if it wasn't for the _sound_ that immediately caught her attention. They were _kissing._ They were bloody kissing, right in front of her eyes.

She looked at John, only to notice that he tried to stare everywhere, but them, and she couldn't help, but to feel the need to do the same thing. Her eyes betrayed her though, because they remained glued to the couple. It was a subtle, innocent kiss, even if it was _very noisy_. Victoria had to admit, they looked kind of good together, no matter how hard it was for her to even think that. Sherlock had his eyes closed, just like she told him to, while his lips moved against Janine's in a nice, slow rhythm.

It was a _beautiful_ kiss in a way –one of those you might have seen in a movie, but Victoria decided that nothing had made her feel more like shit, than witnessing that intimate moment. God, she was pathetic and ridiculous. _Ridiculously pathetic._

"Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes," Janine whispered into Sherlock's lips, forcing Victoria to cover her own eyes with pain. That kiss might have been beautiful, but _this?_ How did Holmes manage to keep a straight face after hearing this?

Just like that, Victoria got her answer, when he turned around, without a trace of emotions on his face.

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's _so_ much more than that."

Apparently, Janine's subject was long gone, and Victoria couldn't be more glad for it. She stood up and walked up to Sherlock's desk, where had had sat down in front of the laptop.

"I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name is Appledore." He turned around the laptop, allowing her and John to see the pictures shown on the screen.

The house was clearly impressive, making Victoria slightly disappointed with her own career choice. Maybe she could have become a newspaper owner? Hell, who was she kidding… She didn't even need a bigger place, because she was hardly even there.

Still, the place didn't exactly look like a fortress, protecting all kinds of sensitive information. Just another villa with great views, for someone rich enough to afford it. Sherlock couldn't be wrong, on the other hand. He never was. Besides, he risked much for this investigation, so it wasn't possible for him to simply _miss_ a detail. The only question Victoria had was: how did Janine fit into all of it?

"Dinner," John said, forcing both Sherlock and Victoria to look at him with baffled expressions.

"Sorry, what dinner?" Sherlock asked, having already forgotten all about his girlfriend and her plans.

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner… with wine and… sitting."

Sherlock turned around and looked at him with disbelief.

"Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is _run_ from this house and you want to talk about dinner?"

"Of course he does," Victoria sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're married to your work, Sherlock. Seeing you with Janine is… quite shocking, obviously. And you, agreeing to go to a double date? Well, that's…"

"What double date?" Sherlock interrupted her and blinked a couple of times.

"Dinner, _Sherl,"_ she mocked, watching his cheek twitch in annoyance, which he couldn't show, because of John's presence. "You and Janine mean one couple, while John and Mary mean the _second_ couple."

Holmes looked at her with exasperation, realising that he was tricked into something he clearly had no intentions of doing either way, but what just began to sound a lot more stupid.

"It doesn't matter. We'll deal with _that_ later. We have more important things to discuss."

"The house," Victoria agreed and he nodded.

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world, the Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals – and _none_ of it is on a computer. He's smart – computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of _anyone_ you've ever met is a fantasy."

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, and all of them had turned around to see Mrs Hudson peeking into the room.

"Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?" she asked, making Sherlock frown.

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing."

Victoria rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop herself from smiling at Holmes' stupidity. She probably would have even commented on that, but Mrs Hudson's expression stopped her from doing so.

"Oh, that's not a _fault,_ Sherlock!" The woman whined, looking very troubled, which forced John to finally join the conversation.

"Who is it?" he asked, and the landlady drew in a deep, shaky breath.

Before Victoria could hear the woman's answer, she had found herself swept off of her feet and thrown over Sherlock's shoulder.

"What the fuck, Holmes?!" she yelled, but he had already ran across the kitchen and the hallway leading to the bedroom.

Without any delicacy at all, he put her down and said:

"Listen carefully. It's Magnussen." His face was tense, and Victoria couldn't stop herself from thinking that he looked almost worried. "Until he leaves, you're going to stay here and be _quiet_. Do you understand?"

"No, Sherlock, I'm not…"

"Victoria!" He yelled and grabbed her shoulders. "It is not the time to oppose me. Close the door from the inside."

With that, he was gone. Victoria's heart was racing and her hands shook violently, because of the anger and anxiousness she was feeling. Why did Sherlock tell her to stay in his bedroom? Why didn't he want her to meet Magnussen?

She could bloody handle herself. If Magnussen used _pressure points_ and sensitive information to break someone, Victoria was fairly sure that he would have no troubles finding her weak spots. Even so… She didn't know _anyone_ who would have more pressure points, than Sherlock. Most people were aware of their weaknesses. Some nurtured them into strengths, some pretended that they didn't exist. But all of those people _knew_ that they were there. Sherlock didn't. And it would make his eventual fall even harder.

Why wouldn't he let her _help_? Victoria wasn't sure if she could go as far as to think that he actually _cared_ for her well-being, but from the looks of it… Well, it certainly seemed that way. The look on his face, when he had put her down –it wasn't something she had seen before. Not on _him_ , anyway. Maybe he really didn't want her to have anything to do with Magnussen, just because he _cared_?

Who was she even kidding. John Watson had stayed with him, even though Sherlock undoubtedly held more feelings from him, than he did for her. If he would have to choose someone to protect, it wouldn't be Victoria.

She really needed to get over herself, and figure out a legitimate reason for Sherlock's behaviour. And what better place to do it, than his bedroom, smelling of his _girlfriend's_ perfume _?_

* * *

It took him hours to get back to the house. Victoria was strongly convinced that he had either forgotten all about her, or had just assumed that she would leave as soon as she'd heard the door close behind him. She didn't hear most of their conversation with Magnussen, but realising that the house had suddenly fallen quiet wasn't difficult.

Victoria was _pissed,_ to say the least. He explicitly told her to stay in his bedroom until Magnussen had left the house, but it didn't mean that he could run away, before he could give her some answers. She deserved to know why, after all this time, he chose to push her away and stop their cooperation. So despite being incredibly uncomfortable and angry, she stayed at his place and waited for his return.

Lestrade had called her many times and she blew him off, saying that Sherlock needed her help. She basically sold him the same story she'd always given him –he kidnapped her, and there was nothing that could be done. Actually, Victoria was surprised that Greg hadn't fired her already, because of all the special treatment he had to give to her, but she sure hoped that it wouldn't change after her today's stunt.

Radcliffe knew that no matter how hard she tried to focus on something other than Magnussen and Sherlock, her mind kept coming back to it. The chances of her being even useful in the office were pretty slim. Even if she decided to do the right thing, she'd still fall behind on her work. So instead, she waited… and waited… and waited.

When Sherlock finally came back home, he stopped rapidly, as soon as he had noticed her figure on the couch. Victoria crossed her arms on the chest, glaring at him angrily, but it didn't seem to affect him. He simply took off his coat and walked up to his chair. Instead of curling into a ball, like he always did, he faced her and frowned.

"You're still here."

"Yes," she said harshly and mimicked his expression.

"Why?"

"I'm the one that should be asking questions, _Sherl_."

"Don't…" he started, but his lips became a thin line a moment later, when he tried to figure out _her game_. "Is this about Janine? Are you jealous?"

"Could you stop accusing me of that?!" she yelled and shook her head. "No, Sherlock. It's not like I didn't know that you're seeing _someone_. It's about what you did earlier today."

"I've done a lot of things," he answered and averted his gaze, which only told her that he knew _exactly_ what thing she referred to.

"I'm not an idiot, no matter how often you repeat that. Why did you cut me off? Why can't you let me work with you on that case?"

"He's dangerous, Victoria. And you're a police officer. Involving you in that matter would only put my mission in jeopardy."

His answer might have been hurtful, but it was also complete _bullshit_. How could he lie about his feelings for Janine so effortlessly and fail at providing her with a believable excuse?

"Sherlock, are you aware of the fact that you've been breaking into my place for the last couple of months, and I haven't reported it? Or that you've kidnapped me a couple of times, not caring for the fact that I could get _fired_?"

"Your point being?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing's stopped you before from forcing me into dangerous or uncomfortable positions," she said and stood up. Sherlock watched her every step, until she was so close to him that he had to look up, if he didn't want to stare at her belly. "If you want me to leave this case alone, stop lying to me."

"Fine," he scoffed and looked away, changing his position slightly. His legs stopped dangling from one of the arms, as they were now put safely on the ground. "I wanted to work a case with John. Alone."

"Yeah, try again." Victoria rolled her eyes and tapped her foot against the floor with anxiousness. "Make an effort this time."

Sherlock didn't answer right away, but when he finally did, his stare was so intense that she had to fight the urge to become invisible.

"I acted on impulse. It doesn't happen to me very often, but, for some reason, my mind deemed it as the best solution to a troublesome situation."

That, she could believe –mostly because it was an explanation that would seem plausible only to Sherlock. Everyone else would just call him a liar, and a terrible one at that, but Victoria knew that no matter how ridiculous his words sounded, _he_ believed them to be true.

"There's just something…" he started again and frowned, looking away. "Something disturbing about the thought that Magnussen could use you."

"He could use John, as well. He could use _you_ ," she said and crouched down next to his armchair, catching his attention.

"I don't have pressure points."

"Sure you do. The biggest one of them is the fact that you consider yourself invincible." Victoria smiled and shook her head. "Which is why I still think I can help you with that case."

"No. John is enough."

"Why? Why aren't you concerned about _him_?"

Sherlock joined his fingers in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. Victoria started to actually lose hope that she would ever get an answer out of him, but finally, he faced her and said:

"John is an ex-military. He can protect himself, but, more importantly… I've made a vow to protect him. Leaving him out of this, would put him in even more danger, because then I wouldn't be able to save him, if such a need arose."

It was a legit answer, but it was also slightly disappointing. A part of her hoped that he had really wanted to protect her, driven only by his feelings –feelings he might not understand, but which were there nonetheless. And it was a bit _painful_ to learn that his choice was, once again, purely logical. God, she was becoming a soppy idiot.

"I can handle myself too, you know," she muttered, but Sherlock scoffed.

"Victoria, I'm afraid that guns can do no good against Magnussen. And John, as much as it is surprising and improbable, doesn't have a tragic past that could be twisted and turned in many ways."

So it really had something to do with _her_. He didn't want Magnussen to ruin Victoria's life, and that must have counted for something. Actually, it managed to calm her rage, as she simply sat down on the floor and looked down to her feet.

"You don't have to protect me, Sherlock. John has a family, he's even going to be a father. He deserves your attention more than I do, so I understand that you chose to keep him close. But it doesn't mean…"

"It does," Sherlock interrupted her and rolled his eyes. "Magnussen doesn't _know_ about you, Victoria. He knows that you've been working cases with me sometimes, but you're a police officer. In his eyes, you're probably like Lestrade, although I'm sorry for that comparison." Victoria tried not to smile at that statement, since he had just called her boss an idiot, but she failed miserably. After all, he had also given her a compliment, and it was far more important. "If we limit our contact, he won't know that our relationship's nature is… _different_."

Victoria snorted, seeing his puzzled expression, but she knew that the word _different_ , described their relations pretty well. It certainly wasn't a normal friendship, as it required much more effort and patience. Even so, once you'd learned how to read him, suddenly every small detail gained another meaning; it was satisfying, to say the least.

"Yeah, I guess no one gave you dating advice before, huh?" she giggled. To her surprise, Sherlock smiled as well and shook his head.

"No. I doubt that the situation will ever repeat itself, though."

"After all, you're married to your work," Victoria mocked, but Sherlock only raised his eyebrows.

"That, and I don't actually need more advice. Relationships are simple, it turns out. Hardly need any work at all. Just some lies here and there. It's amazing what sentiment can do to people."

Her smile disappeared, as she listened to his words. Victoria almost couldn't believe that even after all this time… even after he had decided to protect her from Magnussen, he still thought that he didn't need emotions. A part of her wanted to call him an idiot, but the other part –the one that actually used _logic_ \- knew that Sherlock was hell-bent on ignoring his feelings. He'd rather say that his _mind had worked on its own accord,_ than even consider the possibility of simply acting human.

"You're not saying anything. Why?" he asked, after she'd fallen silent for a better part of a minute.

"Because I have no answer to that, Sherlock. You know that I'll never agree with you on that matter. I don't need to talk about it over and over to actually understand that," she answered and shrugged.

"Really? Even after seeing me with Janine?"

Victoria scowled before she could stop herself, but this time, it had nothing to do with jealousy. He might have been a convincing actor. He might have fooled the poor woman into believing that she was the only one to know the _real him_. But Victoria could never buy it. Not after spending such a huge amount of time with the raw Sherlock –a genius, a sociopath and a… a man like no other.

"Nothing about Janine and you is true."

"John begs to differ," Sherlock said and grinned, while Victoria sent him a glare.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Holmes. You're lying to that woman, but you're also lying your best friend. Not only isn't your relationship true, but it also makes me feel guilty as hell. I shouldn't allow you to do this."

For a moment, he was the silent one, but Victoria knew that he wasn't angry, or offended. He simply thought about her words, analysing them from every angle. Once he'd done that, he looked away and frowned.

"Why don't you try and stop me?"

"Because I believe that you have an important reason. Nothing else could force you to even consider having a relationship with a woman." She shrugged and glanced at his face, which betrayed no emotions whatsoever.

"So you believe I'm doing the right thing."

"No, Sherlock. I'm far from it. There's nothing right about hurting other people, even if you have a reason to do it. But I choose to believe that you're not doing it for the sole purpose of making her suffer. I choose to trust that there was no other way. Taking Magnussen down can save hundreds, or even thousands of people that are just like Janine."

"Naïve and stupid?" Sherlock snorted, making her clench her fists in annoyance.

"No. _Human_ ," she said and met his gaze with force. "I didn't buy your little show, Holmes, because I know you. And if someone knows _what you're really like_ , it's _me._ But you're such a damn good actor that you would have fooled anyone else. It doesn't mean that people are stupid and naïve. It just means that you're a cold-hearted bastard that uses their humanity against them."

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. Sherlock probably didn't deserve those words, but it was too late to take them back. They were true in a way, but it didn't stop her from wishing that they weren't. The vision of Sherlock Holmes ever admitting to being just like the rest of the society… It was a vision she'd probably never get rid of, even if it was also the most impossible thing on the planet.

Victoria opened her eyes and found him looking at her with a weird expression. Actually, he seemed almost _hurt_ , which only proved that even though he acted like he didn't care, he _did_. Deep down, he didn't want anyone to think that about him, even if he constantly chose to lie to himself.

"You're different, Sherlock. Your mind is incredible. It makes everyone an idiot in your eyes, and you're right. We're never going to be as smart and as brilliant as you are." She smiled bitterly. "But _sentiment_ has nothing to do with intelligence, no matter how hard you and your brother want to believe otherwise. It's not a coincidence that most of those, who are unable to _feel,_ commit terrible crimes."

"It's different to not have feelings and choose to see them as a weakness," Sherlock said, but Victoria wasn't going to change her mind.

"Yeah, Holmes, you can see _your_ feelings as a weakness, but when you do the same to others… How does it differ from finding someone's pressure point and using it against them?" she asked and watched his mouth fly open. He closed it after a short moment, but his jaw muscles were tense.

"There's a _significant_ difference," he said, but Victoria snorted and shook her head.

"Right. Of course there is. Because one is done by a criminal, and the other by a high-functioning sociopath? If you really think so, Sherlock, then you're just _dumb_." He looked at her with outrage, but she shot him a glare and continued. "Do think Janine will see a difference? Well, let me tell you, she won't. It will still hurt, making her feel like absolute _shit_."

"I wouldn't have done it, if it wasn't necessary," Sherlock answered angrily, and she smiled.

"Really? Why?"

He opened his mouth and then he closed it again, puffing out his cheeks, which made him look like an angry kid.

"I thought that you weren't going to lecture me."

"You fucking asked for it, and you _know_ it," she answered and sent him a glare. "I really wish you'd stop being such a damn hypocrite and actually acknowledged it. Maybe then you'd realise that what you did today wasn't an _impulse_ , and that your mind deemed it as the best solution, because you don't want to see me hurt. Just because you _care_."

"Is that what you think?" he asked with amusement, but Victoria's gaze wiped the smile off his face.

"I don't _know_ what to think, where you're concerned. That's just how it is with you," she scowled and rubbed her forehead tiredly. "But I _do_ know that if anyone else called you _dumb_ , you'd probably eviscerate them. You wouldn't carry them out of the room on your shoulder, and you _definitely_ wouldn't have let them stay in your bedroom."

"I'm doing those things for Janine." He noticed cautiously, but Victoria raised her eyebrows.

"You're also letting her call you _Sherl_ –which is the nickname _I_ came up with."

Holmes averted his gaze instantly and frowned.

"I bloody hate that word."

"I know you do," she said and smiled. "It makes it even more fun to use it."

"Weren't you just saying that using someone's feelings against them is _wrong_?" he mocked in response, but Victoria shrugged.

"Serves you right for being a prick, _Sherl_."

"OUT!" he yelled and stood up rapidly, pointing to the door. Victoria started to laugh, but she obediently rose from the floor and took a step closer to him, watching as his expression changed into a baffled one.

"Solve me a crime… Sherlock Holmes," she whispered seductively and started to walk away. She stopped, when his fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist, and she was forced to turn around.

He looked at her intensely, making her uncomfortable. It really seemed as though her words, even if meant as a joke, had managed to affect him in _some_ way. She couldn't exactly determine what way was that, so she waited for him to say anything. She waited, and waited, but he was as still as a statue.

"Sherlock?" she muttered after a while, and he blinked.

"Don't use that tone again," he said and let go of her wrist. A moment later, he was sitting on his chair once again, while Victoria stared at him with surprise.

"Why?"

Sherlock glanced at her, frowning.

"It makes me feel _funny_."

Victoria swallowed hard and nodded stiffly, before turning around and walking towards the door. She could have sworn that his eyes… No, it couldn't have been. Because Sherlock Holmes couldn't actually feel attracted to her, could he? But his eyes…

Oh, God, she was so screwed.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'm happy to present you with a _really long chapter_. I feel like it took me forever to write it, maybe because it is very emotional, as you will see in a moment. It is written from Victoria's POV, but the next one is going to be from Sherlock, since everyone seemed to love the idea :) I've already planned it and I actually cannot wait to get to work! And now, to answer the reviews!**

 **PlutoniumBunny : I'm incredibly happy that you love my story. Writing about Sherlock turns out to be really fun, especially when he's a 'cute arse' :) I get a feeling that writing from his persepctive will be extremely entertaining... I hope you'll enjoy what's to come! **

**Marianagmt : Yep, a big challenge lies ahead of our girl. The fact that everyone starts to figure out that she is bound to fall for Sherlock doesn't help. She's certainly going to fuss over this for a while. And Sherlock... Well, we all know that he's going to be _difficult_ about those bad, dreadful, disgusting feelings. It's going to be soooo fun! Thank you, as always :)**

 **Guest: Like I said, Sherlock's POV is coming and I certainly hope you'll like it! :) For now, enjoy this chapter -I happen to quite like it as well :)**

* * *

It all became just a blur. A massive, colourful haze of events that made no sense to her. Victoria wasn't a genius, but it didn't bother her most of the time, even when she worked with Sherlock. But right now, things seemed different. Maybe if she had the ability to see _through_ everything, she wouldn't have to look at Sherlock's motionless, peaceful face with a blank expression. Why was he here, in this hospital bed? Who did this to him, and most importantly –why? He pissed off a lot of people, but he certainly didn't deserve to die. How could such a thing have happened?

"Victoria." John's gentle voice reached her ears, but she felt too numb to respond. Her eyes were glued to Sherlock's face, refusing to leave his sharp features. His skin was so, so pale… For a moment, she had to fight the urge to check his pulse, only to make sure that he wasn't dead. "Vic…"

"What happened, John?" she finally managed to say. She sounded as though she had been drinking for the past couple of days, but the reason for it was entirely different. She hadn't been crying so much for a very long time.

"I don't know. Not- not really. Sherlock wanted to get inside Magnussen's office, to get the letters that… Well. He probably wouldn't want me to tell you."

Victoria looked at him with annoyance, only to find him staring at his friend with tense muscles and glossy eyes. Her own expression softened, realising that it wasn't the time to scold him for anything. He probably saved Sherlock's life. If he hadn't been with him that night…

She felt her own eyes water and she closed them, not wanting to break down once more. Enough tears had fallen down her cheeks. No matter how terrified and relieved she felt, no tears could reverse time, or fix things.

"It turns out that Sherlock was just using Janine to get to Magnussen's office. He bloody _proposed_ to her, just so she would let us into the elevator."

Her eyes snapped open, when John's words sank in. So that's what he needed Janine for… He needed her to _get shot_ and almost _die_. Victoria knew how unfair it was to even think those things, since Sherlock couldn't have foreseen any of it, but she still felt angry as hell. He walked into a lion's den. He walked in there _without her_. And now she had to watch him in his hospital bed, barely even breathing.

"We entered the office and found Janine unconscious on the floor. Sherlock ordered me to take care of her, while he started to look around the office. He wasn't coming back for a while, so I left Janine and went to find him…" His voice broke, telling her that she wasn't the only one suffering right now. Victoria didn't want to even _begin_ to imagine how hard it must have been for him. Knowing John, he probably blamed himself. He couldn't have done anything to help Sherlock. In best case scenario, he would have got shot too, and then neither of them would be alive.

"It's a good thing you called the ambulance. You saved his life, John. Thank you," she said, not thinking twice about it. After Dr Watson looked at her, Victoria knew that she probably should have thought twice.

"You really care about him, don't you?" John asked and smiled through tears. "I never thought that I would see anyone look at him with…"

"With what?" Victoria said, glancing at him sharply. "I'm not a bloody machine, and he's not a monster, despite what people think about him. Of course I care about him, John."

"Yeah, we both know it's more than that," John answered. "It's a _good_ thing, Victoria."

She didn't say anything, combing through her hair with fingers and sighing shakily. Maybe it was a good thing. For _Sherlock_. He needed someone to take care of him, even if he would never admit to it. He needed someone to toy around with. But it wasn't what _she_ needed.

Still, looking at him in the white sheets, with face as pale as snow… Victoria could hardly imagine the last time she'd felt worse. Her heart ached, making her realise that it was really too late to forget about her stupid feelings and back out. She was too far gone, even if she bloody hated it.

"Who could have done it, John? Haven't you seen anything?"

"I asked Magnussen, but he wouldn't say. He has to know. He… He has to…"

John covered his eyes and took a deep breath. Victoria could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He probably wanted to stop himself from crying, but the emotions had finally got the better of him, making it almost impossible.

"I… I'm going to get coffee," she said and put her hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly, before walking out of the room. He needed to be alone with his fear, guilt and sadness. He needed to simply let it all out, without being afraid of Victoria's reaction.

In all honesty, she could never think anything even remotely bad about him. He was doctor John Watson –a man with a heart of gold, who cared about other people, more than he cared about himself. A man that saved Sherlock's life. And Victoria would never forget that.

* * *

The plastic chair on the corridor was horribly uncomfortable. The coffee from the vending machine tasted like piss with sugar. The lights were too bright and too cold to make the situation any better; yet, Victoria couldn't force herself to move, as her eyes stayed glued to the door to Sherlock's room. She sat there for the better part of an hour, waiting for John to come out, but she almost didn't feel the time passing.

Her thoughts swirled around her mind in a chaotic manner, making her confused and numb at the same time. She really didn't know how something like this could have happened. It was Sherlock Holmes. The world's _only_ consulting detective. Not so long ago, she was the one telling him to stop feeling invincible, because he certainly wasn't. So why was it so hard to believe that someone got the better of him? Was it Magnussen? Did he manage to fool John Watson into believing that it wasn't his doing? It couldn't have been hard, considering John's distressed condition.

No… Magnussen wouldn't have the time to get rid of a weapon. He also wouldn't have been able to shoot Sherlock with such precision. So what the hell happened in that –literally- bloody office?

Victoria's phone rang and she shifted, feeling vibrations on her thigh. She briefly considered waiting it out, but a part of her knew that Sherlock's injury hadn't stopped everyone's lives from continuing. She reached for her pocket and took out the phone, looking at the screen with a blank expression. Molly Hooper.

"Hey," she answered the call, only to find that her moderate greeting disappeared in a litany of sobs.

"Victoria…" Molly cried, making her realise that someone told her about what happened. "Tell me he's alright."

"He pulled through. The doctors say that he should be fine, but he…" Her voice cracked a bit, so she cleared her throat and rested her head against the cold wall. "He actually died on the table. For a second. They say it's a miracle that he survived."

"Oh, God," Molly whispered and inhaled sharply. She was clearly very disturbed and saddened by the events, but she didn't sound _broken_.

"It's Sherlock, Molls. If someone kills him, it's gonna be me. Or you." Victoria forced herself to sound almost cheerful, and the registrar seemed to appreciate it, because she stopped crying so hard.

"I'll leave the job to you, Vicky."

"So I thought." Victoria smiled weakly and then glanced at the door, which opened slightly, when John started to slither his way out. "I'll call you if anything changes, alright?"

"Thanks. I'd be really grateful."

Not a second later, she hung up and Victoria stood up, walking over to John.

"Did he wake up?" she asked immediately, watching Watson frown.

"For a second. It was weird, though," he said. "All he said was _Mar_ _y."_

Victoria opened her mouth to answer, but she closed it almost immediately. Mary? Why on Earth would Sherlock say John's wife's name?

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's hard to mistake it with anything, right?"

Yes, it was. It still didn't make any sense though. The only plausible explanation, which came to Victoria's head, was _drugs_. Sherlock was probably dosed with morphine, and possibly many other highly effective substances. He wasn't in his right mind. That had to be it.

"Did he say anything else?"

"No. He went back to sleep a second later. It was still good to hear his voice."

Victoria nodded absentmindedly and collapsed on the chair one more time, closing her eyes and sighing tiredly. He was going to be alright. She wasn't going to lose him. It didn't matter, whether he talked nonsense –all that counted was that he _pulled through_.

"You should go home, Vic. I know you've been up all day and night –probably longer, since you're addicted to work, just like Sherlock," John said and put his hand on her shoulder.

She was bloody tired, but at the same time, going to sleep didn't feel like an option. There was so much to do… She had to find whoever had shot Sherlock. He might have got lucky, but it didn't make him any safer. She had to make sure that no one would come to finish the job.

"Seriously. You're in no condition to work. I know that you want to find that son of a bitch, but he'll still be out there once you've gathered your strength."

He was, once again, right. Victoria couldn't deny that fact, just as she couldn't deny her own exhaustion. She was tired from holding back her tears and swallowing them, before anyone could see how truly _devastated_ she felt. Maybe going home and letting it all out would help? Maybe it would get rid of that terrifying numbness eating up her soul?

"Oh, look, Mary's here!" John said and got up immediately. Victoria followed his movement with her eyes, watching as his wife ran into Watson's embrace.

"Hey!" the woman said, making Victoria realise that she had never even heard what she sounded like. Why hadn't she met her? How was that even possible?

"He's only bloody woken up! He's pulled through!" John stated and Mary smiled cheerfully.

"Really? Seriously?"

"Oh, you, Mrs Watson… You're in big trouble!" John pointed to his wife, and Victoria couldn't help, but frown at Mary's suddenly worried expression. She did her best to hide it, but Radcliffe was still sure that something was _there._

"Really? Why?"

"His first word when he woke up? Mary!"

Mrs Watson giggled and hugged her husband tightly. As soon as her face disappeared from John's view, all of the happiness was gone, replaced by worry. It was at this exact moment, when Mary's eyes had landed upon Victoria, and her worry turned into fear. In a blink of an eye, smile returned to her face, as she took a step back and walked around John to look at the detective.

"How can it be that we only finally meet under such terrible circumstances?"

"That's exactly what I thought," Victoria answered tightly and smiled, watching Mary's face carefully. There was nothing left of her previous emotions, but Radcliffe was so sure of what she'd seen… She couldn't have been mistaken.

Why did Sherlock's recovery make Mary afraid? Could it really be a coincidence that his first word, after he'd been shot, was the name of the exact person, who seemed _scared_ that he had gotten a chance to even say it?

"It's a pleasure to meet you, still," Mrs Watson shook her hand with a brilliant smile, and Victoria did her best to look at least a bit happy.

"Likewise. Which is why I'm very sorry to take John's advice and go home. I haven't sleep for the past forty eight hours, and this… It didn't help," she muttered quietly, glancing at Sherlock's room. Her heart stung for a moment, so she let out a shaky breath and averted her gaze.

"Oh, of course. You poor thing… Call us, if you need anything," Marry offered and Victoria decided that either this woman was a terrific actress, or she had to be a truly good person.

She knew what she'd seen, though. There could be no backing out of her plan to find out what exactly got Mary so scared. Sherlock was hurt and Victoria would rather eat her own hair, than let the person who'd done this get away.

* * *

No one wanted to bury their children, especially if they hadn't even had the chance to meet them properly. Victoria was sure that the sight of a tiny coffin could be devastating. It could scar one's psyche and become the most dreadful moment in their lives. She was also sure that Mary Morstan's parents had gone through years of grief and suffering, when they found out that their child was stillborn.

Vic couldn't believe that John's wife had stolen someone else's identity, but there was no other explanation. There was no mention of her in any records, just as if she didn't exist. The detective had a hard time believing that John Watson had married a _ghost_ , but apparently, you didn't have to be a ghost to be _invisible_.

Who was she? Why did she lie? Why did she even had to steal the identity of a _stillborn_? No matter how hard Victoria tried to answer any of these questions, her mind couldn't come up with even a shitty explanation. She had nothing. Nothing, except for the growing fear that John had put his trust in a wrong person. A person, who tried to kill his _best friend_.

Did Sherlock know? He was a freaking lie detector and there was no way he hadn't done his research as soon as he'd found out about John's relationship. Checking the police database must have been the first thing he'd done. He _had to_ know. But then, why didn't he say anything? Why…

Victoria snapped her eyes open, ignoring how hard it was to raise the eyelids. She was exhausted, but the giant bile in her throat constantly reminded her of the situation she found herself in. Sherlock was in danger, and apparently, that danger came from the last person anyone could have suspected. Radcliffe couldn't just go to sleep, knowing that Mary could be finishing the job in that very second.

She stood up and grabbed her coat, heading towards the door. She could sleep in the hospital, keeping watch over him. And if he woke up… Maybe he would be able to offer her an explanation? Victoria knew better than to jump to conclusions, after all. There could still be something missing. She had to believe in that for John's sake, and for her own as well.

* * *

Sherlock was awake. Victoria partially hoped that she'd be able to get some sleep, before she faced him, but as soon as his hazy eyes had rested upon her, sleepiness evaporated from her body, leaving only relief and anxiousness.

"I bloody hate you sometimes," she whispered, watching small smile appear on his face. He was still pale as the sheets surrounding him, but it was still a healthier shade than the one from earlier.

"Please… I'm not that easy to kill." His voice sounded hoarse, but Victoria couldn't stop herself from letting out a shaky breath of relief. Her eyes filled with tears and she had to look away to stop herself from breaking down. "Are you crying?"

"Shut up," she muttered through clenched teeth, feeling her cheeks warming up. She bloody hated showing other people her vulnerability, but when it came to Sherlock… God, he could make things so much more difficult.

"I'm going to be fine, Victoria." To her surprise, he didn't sound as though he wanted to make fun of her _feelings_. "Crying over something that has already happened, doesn't make much sense."

She glared at him with force, causing his eyes to widen considerably.

"You almost _died_ , idiot. I care about you and it makes me really upset that I could have been forced to stand over your fucking grave!" she spat and clenched her fists, sitting down on a chair next to his bed. "If you can't understand that, then at least shut your damn mouth."

Tears rolled down her face and she leaned forward on her elbows. She didn't want him to see how broken she felt, but it was too late for that. High on morphine or not, he still could see much more than everyone else. She looked up, to find him staring at her in awe. For a moment, the world stopped, as Victoria allowed herself to get lost in his piercing eyes. It lasted only a second though, because she lowered her head one more time, wishing that her desperate need to sob violently would simply go away.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she asked quietly, when silence started to bother her. Obviously, she didn't expect him to answer. It was Sherlock, after all.

"I got shot."

Victoria puffed out her cheeks, deciding not to get violent. No matter how much he deserved a beating from her, she didn't want to hurt him even more. She didn't want to hurt him, even if he had no problems doing that to her by treating her like a bloody moron.

"What does Mary have to do with this?" she said bluntly and raised her gaze to see his expression change slightly. To anyone else, he would probably seem calm and unmoved, but Victoria knew better than to believe it. His fingers twitched, while his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, indicating that he really didn't expect her to ask such a question.

"Nothing, obviously. Why would John's wife…"

"Stop lying," Victoria interrupted him and stood up rapidly. "I've seen her expression, when she found out that you pulled through. It's not hard to connect the dots, when her name is also the first thing that came out of your mouth, after you've woken up."

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he stared at the wall in front of him with a blank look, making Victoria realise that she wouldn't get an answer from him. She sighed with disbelief and shook her head, feeling another wave of tears coming out of her eyes.

"Wow. Even after I've just admitted that I _know_ that Mary was the one to shoot you, you still don't want to be honest with me. You'd rather _protect_ the woman that almost killed you, than come clean to someone who blindly trusted you with _everything_ you did." Victoria smiled bitterly and turned around, not wanting to look at him any longer.

What did she expect? That Sherlock would suddenly begin to trust her? That he'd confine in her? She was so bloody stupid… Stupid, naïve and _hurt_ , above everything else. She didn't deserve to be lied to. Not after everything that happened. Why did he have to be so fucking blind?

"Victoria…" Just before she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her. She didn't turn to face him, but she stood still, hoping that maybe he could still prove her wrong. "I'll tell you everything. But I need your help first."

He had to be kidding. Even with all she'd said… he still had the audacity to ask her for help? She couldn't stop herself from laughing, although it wasn't a happy sound; it was filled with bitterness and anger. Once she'd turned, she noticed that even Sherlock picked up on her feelings, because his face was tense and eyes wide with surprise.

"You just don't get it, do you? I'm not your fucking toy. I'm not someone, who'll help you, no matter how poorly you treat me. Because your constant lies and mysteries _hurt_ me, Holmes. They shouldn't, since I'm supposed to know better, but they _fucking do_ ," she said and shook her head, looking at him with anger. Even through the tears, she could see that Sherlock seemed to have an epiphany, once he'd understood yet another thing about friendship –secrets tended to ruin it. "Are you going to at least tell me what do you need help with?"

"I… I-I need to leave the hospital. There are things I need to take care of, and I need you to…"

"Help you kill yourself," she finished for him and smiled with disbelief. "Right, I should have known that you're going to ask for something equally ridiculous. Are you out of your mind, Holmes?! You got shot, you died on the table, and you think I'd help you commit suicide?!"

"No, I'm not planning to die. I've made calculations that…"

"Just shut up! SHUT UP!" she yelled, unable to stop herself. She didn't care if the nurses were going to run into the room and kick her out. Sherlock's words rang in her ears so loudly that she simply couldn't take it anymore. "How can you expect me to be okay with this?! You ask me to do something that could end with you _dying,_ and you don't even have the decency to explain anything to me?! Well, guess what, Holmes, but I'm not putting up with that crap!"

Victoria was now crying, what made her voice high-pitched and shaky, but she just couldn't stop. Her head ached, her heart _stung_ , while nausea struck her with force. For a second, she thought she was going to pass out from all the feelings boiling inside her body, so she leaned on the railing of his bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

"Please, Victoria, this is really important," Sherlock said, but she just laughed again and squeezed her eyelids harder.

"You don't get to do this to me. If you die, I'm going to have _your_ blood on my hands and I'm going to blame myself for this for the rest of my life. You can be cruel, Sherlock, but this? This is _unimaginable_."

"You've said that we're friends."

Her eyes snapped open, while her mouth gaped in utter disbelief.

"Friends? Friends do not ask each other to do things that could ruin their lives. Friends do not keep million secrets from each other. Friends _protect_ each other, and this is exactly what I'm going to do, now that you've dared to play that card," she said and pushed herself away from his bed. "Here's what I'll do. I'll call Lestrade and tell him about your _stupid_ plan, and he's going to send a couple of police officers to watch you day and night. Unless you come clean about what happened and let me _really_ help you, I'm not letting you out of here!"

Sherlock moved abruptly, his face suddenly twisted in anger, but it was quickly replaced with pain, when he pulled his stitches.

"Victoria, listen to me…"

"No! I've already lost one person I cared about, and I'd rather _die_ than let you kill yourself. That's what friendship means, you asshole!"

"You know that it won't stop me! I'll do it regardless of your help!" he said, before she walked out of the room, and Victoria spun around, raising her arms in powerlessness.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But I'm not crossing that line, Sherlock. I'm…" She looked at him and bit her bottom lip, desperately wanting to stop the tears from flowing. Her vision blurred and she lowered her head. "I'm done. Turns out, I'm just too easy to break. Good luck with your suicide mission."

She exited the room and shut the door behind her with a loud bang. Her hands shook violently, her breathing was shallow and she couldn't stop herself from sobbing. The choice she'd made felt right and wrong at the same time. Because no matter how hard she tried to pretend to be tough, she wasn't. Saying 'no' to him required all of her strength, especially after she'd seen the hurt in his eyes. Victoria accused him of not trusting her, but even she knew that it wasn't entirely true. He _did_ trust her, in his own, fucked up way. He trusted her to help him, when he was at his lowest –right now.

But she didn't lie, when she said she was done. The thought of losing him scared her so much, that she simply couldn't help him risk his life again. She wouldn't be able to live with herself, if he died after she'd helped him. She wouldn't be able to look herself in the eyes anymore.

Maybe his secrets were meant to protect her. Maybe he even cared about her, but in this moment, Victoria knew that it could never be enough. She couldn't chase him forever. Not when he so desperately refused to get caught.

She walked down the corridor, wiping the tears away from her face and putting on a mask of indifference. The world didn't have to know that she was dying on the inside.

* * *

"Victoria." John's voice sounded _terrible_. If she had to guess, she'd say that Sherlock must have told him about everything. Apparently, it was easier to tell Mary's _husband,_ than to tell her. "Could you please come to Baker Street?"

"Why?" she asked, although she didn't want to hear an answer. Baker Street was the _last_ place Victoria wanted to visit right now. Even seeing his apartment would feel like sprinkling salt over a wound.

"It… wasn't a coincidence that Sherlock said Mary's name," John answered and his voice cracked at the end, making Victoria clench her teeth. Sometimes, she truly hated being right, and right now was one of those times. "I've just found out that my wife is a cold blooded killer."

"John… I'm so, so sorry," Victoria muttered, but all she heard in response was a shaky breath, followed by a minute of silence.

"Please, Victoria," he finally said. "You deserve to know the truth, and I… I don't think I can do this alone."

"Sherlock's with you, isn't he?"

"He wants me to hear her out. He doesn't understand what it feels like to…" He stopped himself, and Victoria could almost taste his pain. God, John Watson was _broken_ –completely torn apart. She couldn't leave him, even if it hurt her to even think about Sherlock.

"I'll be there," she said weakly and hung up, not waiting for his response.

Victoria grabbed her coat, knowing that if she allowed herself even a moment to think, she'd change her mind immediately. She simply couldn't let John down. He didn't deserve it, just as she didn't deserve being kept in the dark.

* * *

She got there before them, judging by the darkness seeping from the windows. Relief washed over her, when she realised that she'd at least get a chance to prepare herself for the inevitable. Victoria entered the house and started to climb the stairs, when Mrs Hudson appeared on the staircase and sighed in relief.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here! I was beginning to think that you ran away with him!" the woman said and sniffled loudly. Victoria forced a weak smile and joined her at the top of the stairs.

"No, Mrs Hudson. Sherlock and I… We're not on friendly basis right now –not exactly. My boss told me he went missing, but I wasn't able to help."

"So why are you here?

" John called me. He's with Sherlock. They're going to be here soon," she said and patted the landlady's shoulder.

"Oh… Oh! He's alive! That reckless boy is going to kill me one day!"

Victoria smiled again and walked into the apartment, trying not to pay attention to its characteristic smell and Sherlock's dressing gown lying on _her couch_. She simply sat down in front of the fireplace and waited. Mrs Hudson followed her into the room, but she must have noticed that Victoria wasn't in the mood for having conversation, because she entered the kitchen and started preparing some tea.

As soon as they heard the door opening, Mrs Hudson ran out of the room and said:

"John. Mary!"

Victoria turned around to see Mrs Watson walking in her direction. She stopped, when she spotted Vicky, but eventually joined her near the fireplace. John, on the other hand, stopped next to the dining table, offering Victoria a grateful look. She wanted to smile at him, but then Sherlock finally appeared in the doorway, causing Mrs Hudson to nearly get a heart attack.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she cried out worriedly and clutched her chest. "Oh, good gracious, you look _terrible_."

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I've run out," Holmes breathed out, leaning against the door-frame. Victoria forced herself to glance at him, only to find that he was, indeed, in a horrible shape. He looked even worse, than he had right after he'd come out of his surgery.

Before she could stop herself, she stood up walked up to him, and wrapped her arm around his waist, quietly telling him to use her for support. She could see his surprise, even with the pain contorting his face, but he chose to lean on her. He let go of the door, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"I don't have any morphine!" Mrs Hudson answered and Sherlock momentarily tensed.

"Then what _exactly_ is the point of you?" he asked, forcing his landlady to clench her teeth. Mrs Hudson must have decided that there was no point in arguing him, so instead she looked around with a baffled expression.

"What is going on?" she asked.

John turned around abruptly, making Victoria realise, why he had wanted her to come here in the first place. He was about to lose his shit _completely_. Sherlock was in no condition to stop him, and Mary… Mary was going to be his target.

" _Bloody_ good question," Dr Watson said and glanced at his wife with anger.

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do," Sherlock explained, but John ignored him completely.

"Oh, I have a better question. Is _everyone_ I've ever met a psychopath?"

"Yes," Holmes said and Victoria cleared her throat. "Except for _her_. She's just crazy." Victoria fought the urge to kill him, watching as Mary offered a tiny nod as well, making John even more furious. "Good that we've settled that. Anyway, we…"

"SHUT UP! And stay shut up, because _this_ is _not_ funny. Not this time."

Seeing John in such a state felt terrible, and Victoria really wished that she hadn't jumped to Sherlock's rescue, because his friend seemed to need her help even more.

"I didn't say it was funny," Holmes said and the detective sighed angrily.

"Just do what he says and _shut up_ ," she spat and shook her head. "The least you talk, the better."

"Funny, because not so long ago you whined about me not talking to you," he answered and Victoria squeezed his waist a bit harder, before she could stop herself.

"You really don't know how to stop, huh?" she muttered, and looked up to see his stare fixated at her face. Her glare forced him to shut the hell up, so she looked away once more, in time to see John walking up to Mary.

"You. What have I ever done… hmm? My whole life… to deserve you?

"Everything," Sherlock answered.

"Sherlock, I've told you to shut up!"

Like it could ever work. Holmes knew no boundaries even if he wasn't lightheaded from all the pain he felt.

"Oh, I mean it, seriously. _Everything –_ everything you've ever done, is what you did."

"Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine."

"John!" Victoria snapped, looking at him angrily. "No threats, while I'm here. I think we've had enough of attempted murders in the past week, huh?" She looked at Mary and the woman averted her gaze with _shame_. What was going on here?

"You were a doctor, who went to war," Sherlock continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "You're a man, who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month, without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high _._ " He stopped and raised his hand from Victoria's shoulder, making her almost collapse under his weight. "That's me, by the way. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing!" Mrs Hudson protested, while everyone looked at her with shock.

" _And_ exotic dancing."

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTube-ing…" she started, but Sherlock ignored her.

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people… Is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with, conforms to that pattern?"

Oh, great. Now he was describing both John _and_ Victoria. The detective briefly wondered if he did that on purpose, but she decided to put off those speculations.

"But she wasn't supposed to _be_ like that!" John answered and looked at Sherlock with anger. " _Why_ is she like that?"

"Because you chose her."

"Why is everything… always… MY FAULT?!" Watson yelled and kicked a small table, causing Mrs Hudson to jump in fear.

Victoria flinched as well, but she stilled as soon as she heard Sherlock's quiet groan of pain.

"Sorry," she whispered and then looked at John. "Calm down. No violence is going to make you feel better about it all."

"Listen, John," Sherlock backed her up and sighed. "Answer me. _What is she?"_

"My lying wife?"

"No. What is she?"

John fixed his gaze on Mary's face, breathing in and out with fury.

"The woman who's carrying my child, who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

"No. Not in this flat; not in this room. Right here, right now, what _is_ she?"

A client, Victoria realised and bit her lip, watching as a humourless smile appeared on John's face, when he had reached the same conclusion. He sniffed and said:

"Okay. Your way. _Always_ your way."

Sherlock relaxed visibly, resting a bigger part of his weight on Victoria. He was getting weaker and weaker, forcing the detective's heart to speed up even more, in fear that he might not make it.

"Please, tell me you've called an ambulance, before you got here," she whispered, briefly watching John, who grabbed a chair and put in front of the fireplace.

"Will it make you feel better?" Sherlock answered, lowering his head and Victoria clenched her free hand.

"No, idiot. Not, if it's a _lie_."

"Well then, it's good that it's not."

Victoria sighed in relief, not caring if he'd heard how shakily it sounded. The ambulance was on its way, and there was nothing more that could be done. She had to clench her teeth and endure.

"That's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. And this…" John pointed to the chair he'd moved. "This is where you sit and talk, and this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you, or not."

The doctor walked over to his chair and sat down, clearing his throat and looking at Sherlock to do the same. Victoria squeezed his waist and helped him get across the room, offering Mary a tight smile, when they passed her. Sherlock lowered himself to the chair, but before he let go of Victoria completely, he squeezed her shoulder and met her gaze. She knew that coming from him it meant a lot, so she smiled weakly and straightened herself, moving to stand by the fireplace.

Mary reached for her pocket and took out something small. She put it onto the table, next to John's chair, and then withdrew her hand, revealing a pen-drive. Sherlock moved, wanting to see the drive better, and asked:

"A.G.R.A. What's that?"

"Er… My initials."

John looked away with hurt painted all over his face. Victoria scowled, not knowing what she would do if someone she loved turned out to be a complete stranger all of a sudden.

"Everything about who I was is on there," Mary said and turned to John. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?"

"Because you won't love me, when you've finished." She barely held back her tears, and Victoria's face softened. There must have been a reason for Mary to change her identity and to lie to the person she loved most. Because there was no doubt that she loved John Watson. The look on her face was enough to prove it. "I don't want to see that happen."

John grabbed the pen-drive and shoved it into his pocket, while Mary looked at Sherlock and Victoria.

"How much do you know already?"

"By your skill set, you are –or were- an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English, but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something; you've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him. I assume you befriended Janine…" He scowled visibly and shifted in his chair. "… in order to get close to him."

"Oh – _you_ can talk!"

"Oh, look at you two. You should have got married," John joined their conversation. Victoria sighed, catching everyone's attention.

"Stop. Sherlock is not your enemy here," she said and the doctor scoffed angrily.

"Isn't he? Because it _surely_ feels that way."

"Sherlock Holmes is incapable of putting anyone over you, John," Victoria answered and shook her head. "You can vent all you want, but you should listen first. _We_ should listen."

Mary offered her a small smile, but Victoria's face remained impassive, so she simply switched her gaze to John.

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life."

"So you _were_ just gonna kill him," John said with disbelief.

"People like Magnussen _should_ be killed. That's why there are people like me."

"Perfect!" Watson stated and looked up. "So that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?"

"You _did_ see that. And you married me!" Mary answered, forcing John to smile murderously at her. "It's what you like."

God, did she want John to lose it? Because he certainly seemed ready to do just that. Victoria looked at Sherlock and sent him a meaningful glance. Luckily, even pain couldn't turn him into a complete dumbass.

"So, Mary. Any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want…" He stopped for a moment and winced in pain. "… extracted and retuned."

"Why would you help me?"

"Because… You saved my life."

"What?" Victoria said and shook her head, looking angrily at Sherlock. "Saved it?! She bloody shot you, Holmes! You _died_ on that fucking table!"

"Why don't you shut up and let me explain?" Sherlock replied tiredly and closed his eyes for a moment. "When I happened on you and Magnussen…" He looked at Mary. "You had a problem. More specifically, you had a witness. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave. However, sentiment got the better of you. You opted for a one precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me, in the hope that it would buy you more time to negotiate my silence. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen." Sherlock glanced at John. "On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so you calculated... that Magnussen... would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police... as is his M.O., and then you left the way you came."

Victoria lowered herself, so she could watch his face while he spoke. His breathing became more and more erratic, making it difficult for him to talk. Did anyone pay attention to his condition at all?

"Sherlock…" she muttered, but he ignored her, looking exclusively at Mary.

"Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John asked angrily, not caring about Victoria's anxiousness either.

"She phoned the ambulance."

" _I_ phoned the ambulance. You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is…" He looked at his watch, at just the exact moment, when two paramedics ran into the room, causing everyone except for Victoria to stand up. "… eight minutes. Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone."

"We were told there was a shooting," one of the paramedics said and Victoria scoffed angrily.

"There was, a week ago," he said and moved his hand to check his pulse. "I believe I'm bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic." Sherlock pushed himself upwards, and Victoria instantly followed his movement, wrapping her hands around him.

"Sherlock, for fuck's sake…" she muttered, feeling his head rest against her shoulder.

"You may need to re-start my heart on the way," he added and then fell on top of her. Only her strong will stopped them from collapsing, as she waited for the paramedics to jump in. Her own heart seemed to have stopped, when her eyes rested on his pale, sweaty face, once the men lied him down. "John… Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life."

"She shot you," John answered and Victoria shook her head.

"He would have been dead, if it wasn't for her call. As much as it pains me to admit it, Sherlock is right."

Before anyone could say anything else, Sherlock groaned out in pain and the paramedics finally got to him with an oxygen mask. While Watson looked at his wife with anger, Victoria watched Holmes with tears running down her face. She couldn't care less for the drama going on right next to her. All she wanted was for Sherlock to make it, no matter how much he hurt her before. He couldn't die. He just _couldn't_.

"Can I go with you?" she asked the paramedics.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but…"

"I'm his fiancée," she lied, before she could stop herself, and they looked at each other, before saying yes to her plea.

Victoria had no intentions of letting him out of her sight, until it was absolutely necessary. She would make sure that he was going to be okay, and then she'd leave, to heal her own wounds. She just hoped that it wouldn't be too late to do that.


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: Okay, let me just say how _freaked out_ I am about posting this chapter. Like you all probably now, it's written from Sherlock's POV. I had lots of fun with it, but I'm still terribly anxious to see what you think of it. So by all means - please, leave me a comment! I'd very much like the next chapter to be from Sherlock's POV as well, but it will happen only of you give me an 'okay'. I hope you'll enjoy it!**

 **Ridethelightning26: Yeah, writing it was emotional too, so I'm glad it showed. Thank you for reading! :) I'm curious to see what you'll think about this one.**

 **SpirouFr : You're welcome, as always! :)**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was beyond used to ignoring people whenever he felt like it. Obviously, one could describe it as a habit of his, since he kept doing it repeatedly over and over. What he _wasn't_ used to, was being treated the same way by the others –especially by _her_.

Just like every other day, Victoria Radcliffe had walked into his room, immediately dropping her things to the armchair. She walked over to the window and opened it slightly, forcing him to bury himself deeper under the cover. He looked at her with a frown, feeling annoyed to the core. She still refused to speak to him, it would seem.

"Good morning to you too," he said with irony, but she barely even looked at him.

She simply returned to the armchair and sat down, instantly forgetting about his presence. No matter how hard he tried to comprehend the reasoning behind her utterly childish behaviour, his usually indefectible mind refused to work properly. Oh, how irritated he was at just the thought of seeing her again and not hearing her voice. This impenetrable silence had been ringing in his ears for far too long, and it started to slowly impair his ability to think clearly.

Sherlock wanted to scream, knowing that Victoria had somehow managed to contaminate the only state that had always been his ally. He _basked_ in silence. He revelled in it, because it allowed him to think, like nothing else did. And now… Now he could only stare at Victoria, studying all of her expressions, all of the details of her face, hoping that maybe he'll manage to crack yet another case –the case of her sudden _resentment_ towards his person.

He threw away the cover and flung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the stinging pain in his chest. There was only so much of such _unjust_ treatment he could take. People didn't ignore Sherlock Holmes. People didn't treat him like thin air.

"Stop!" he ordered, clenching his fists. "I demand you talk to me!"

Victoria raised her gaze and he could see that the corners of her mouth twitched. How dared she laugh at him?! He was the one that should be laughing at her confusing and _ridiculous_ ministrations!

"What exactly is the point of your presence in my room, if you refuse to speak, acting like an overgrown _child?!"_

"Get back to bed, Holmes," she answered quietly and looked down to her files once more. He walked over to the armchair and ripped them away from her grasp, before she could utter a word of protest.

"I will not, until you explain yourself."

"Explain myself?" Victoria stood up and frowned angrily. Her cheeks reddened slightly and Sherlock noticed that she looked more alive than she had in _days_. "Fuck, Sherlock, are you really this _oblivious_?"

He blinked a couple of times, letting his fists relax. What, on Earth, was she talking about?

"You almost died. Two times, to be precise," she said and shook her head. "You lied to me, you failed to trust that I could help you, without you having to risk _your life_ … and on top of that, you _demand me_ to get over myself, without even having a decency to say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry," he replied instantly, but it seemed to only make things worse. How did she expect him to understand her? She wanted him to say he was sorry, so why didn't it work?!

"I should have been more clear," Victoria sighed and rubbed her temples. "You don't have the decency to _feel_ sorry. You hurt me and I didn't deserve it. Just like I don't deserve having to listen to your stupid demands, Holmes."

She collapsed onto the armchair and closed her eyes. For a moment, all he could do, was to stand still and look at her broken expression, which she tried to hide so desperately. His mind had instantly taken him back to their last conversation, when he had to watch the pain on her face and tears flowing down her cheeks. He had never seen her cry this badly before. He had never _made her_ cry before.

For a second, all he could think of, was that stinging tightness somewhere in his chest which, for once, had nothing to do with his gunshot wound. He couldn't exactly tell what it meant back then. He surely didn't _like_ it, as it was a truly uncomfortable sensation, so he decided to simply ignore it –like he did with most of the feelings.

Now, few weeks later, that tightness was back with a doubled force and he had finally began to understand what it meant. She was crying again. _He_ had made her cry again.

"Don't," he said, before he could stop himself. Victoria glanced at him with her glossy eyes, and he frowned at the sight. "Don't cry because of me."

She opened her mouth in surprise and a tear fell down to her shirt, leaving a damp spot on the white fabric. He couldn't help, but to stare at it with a large bile, growing in his throat. Why was he feeling like this? Why couldn't he just ignore it, like he had always done?

"I don't want to… I-I don't want to see you cry."

"Then stop forcing me to," she whispered and let out a shaky breath. "I know that there are things that you can't tell me, and I'm not asking you to. But this? You should have trusted me. I've proved that I can listen to reason. I stayed out of the Magnussen case, I didn't say a thing about you and Janine. But you've been _shot,_ Sherlock. By John's wife, out of all people. This wasn't just a _case_. This was personal, and you chose not to trust me."

He should have trusted her. So why didn't he? That question struck him all of a sudden, forcing him to frown in thoughtfulness. Victoria proved herself to be a worthy ally –even if she often dared to yell at him, when he had managed to anger her. Sherlock might have been incapable of understanding relationships, but he understood _loyalty_. Clearly, she did too, because ever since he had asked for her help, she was always there when he needed her.

Why didn't he trust her? Suddenly the answer became obvious. He _did_. Sherlock knew that she would still be there, even if he kept her in the dark about this entire ordeal. She would still be there, only he wouldn't have put her at risk. After all, he didn't have the certainty that John would listen to him. He didn't know for sure that Mary could be convinced to accept his help. He had, obviously, a very compelling chance of being right, but… It wasn't a certainty. And he _needed_ a certainty, when it came to Victoria's life.

"My reasons for not telling you may be much more complicated than you thought. They are much complicated than _I_ thought," he stated after a moment and blinked, when she raised her eyebrows, having no clue what he meant.

"Sherlock, I would really appreciate if you could be _clear,_ just this once," she said and tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. He had no idea why she kept doing that, since her hair always returned to its previous state in a second.

"It appears that my decision might have been influenced by… _feelings_ ," he answered, completely surprised at his own words. How could he have even admitted to something this _horrible_ out loud?

He needed to escape this hospital. It certainly had turned his mind into a useless mush.

"Feelings," Victoria repeated and looked at his face with confusion. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it. Why would he expect her to? It wasn't a matter of _belief_. He merely stated a fact, after all. There was nothing questionable about it now, even if the thought of actually letting _sentiment_ get the better of him made him want to scowl with disappointment.

"Um… So it would… seem?" he answered and averted his gaze for a second, trying to hide his complete misunderstanding of this entire conversation.

"You lied to me… Because you have _feelings for me_?"

"No!" Sherlock immediately answered, finally realising what his little statement must have sounded like. "I mean –yes. Yes, I seem to hold you in high regard."

To his surprise, Victoria started laughing. She covered her eyes with her hand, but he could still see her bared teeth and shaking shoulders. Did he say something funny? Why was she laughing?! Just when he thought that this conversation couldn't get more confusing, it suddenly did.

"Is that your fucked up way of saying that you actually _like_ me?" she finally asked, looking at him with amusement. Sherlock had to admit that seeing her with a different expression than pain and anger made him incredibly pleased. Was that because he liked her?

Yes, he decided. All the evidence –both psychological _and_ physical- pointed to that possibility. He enjoyed her company, no matter how utterly ridiculous it sounded. He didn't want to see her hurt. He didn't even mind her touch, or smell. And there was also that one tone of her voice that made him feel… _something_. Yes, he supposed he liked her.

"I cannot rule out that possibility," Sherlock finally said and frowned, when she snorted again.

"Oh, great. You're lucky that I know you so well," Victoria answered and sighed tiredly. "I'm pretty sure that everyone else would have just punched you for making it sound so bloody _horrible_."

Horrible? He had just admitted to losing his mind! He had just told her that she had forced him to forego his rule of not allowing _sentiment_ to rule over him! And she…

"Don't you ever do that again," Victoria interrupted his thought process. Her smile was gone, replaced by seriousness, bordering on desperation.

"Admit to… liking you?" he asked, completely baffled, but she shook her head with annoyance.

"No, _idiot_. Don't ever lie to me. You need to finally understand that I can take the truth. Always. What I cannot take, is being kept in the dark, like I meant _nothing_."

Sherlock frowned. Was that what she truly thought about herself? Victoria had never been _nothing_. He might have been incapable of ever telling her that –he didn't see the need for it- but why else would he keep her around?

"I thought you were smarter than that. I don't tolerate many people. You –I do tolerate. Fine, _like_." He rolled his eyes and clasped hands behind his back. "For someone who's undoubtedly a part of the human race, you're very…"

He stopped himself, because he simply couldn't find the right words to describe her. Maybe some time ago, he would have just said _decent_ , or _considerably better than the rest of those morons_. Right now, these words seemed insufficient and weirdly… shallow.

After months of getting to know Victoria Radcliffe, he could deduce _everything_ about her –from the most insignificant details to some major life events. Some of the things he'd guessed, some of the things she'd told him. Even still, his knowledge about her became too vast to be described with a couple of words. _She_ was too complicated to be described in such a way.

"I'm very _what_?" she asked quietly, looking at him with her blue eyes that used to remind him of _The Woman_ so much.

Not anymore, he realised and felt the urge to smile at her –which happened a lot lately. Her eyes didn't look like Irene's anymore. They became simply _hers._

"You're very special," he finally muttered and averted his gaze, feeling tightness in his chest.

This time, it had nothing to do with Victoria's distress or pain. No, it probably had a lot more to do with the slight pink hue on her cheeks, and the way the skin around her eyes crinkled, when she smiled.

"Good," she answered and stood up once again, coming closer to him. It still marvelled him that he felt no need to shift, or move away. Even when she stopped only a step from him, and he could smell the vague scent of her perfume –flowery, but not sweet- he still didn't feel the need to move. "And now, give me back my files."

She extended her hand towards him, raising eyebrows expectantly. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, realising that he was now holding something that could _finally_ offer him some entertainment.

"No," he replied and clutched the folders harder. "We both know that I'm more competent than you, when it comes to solving crimes."

"Those are _classified information_ and I'm going to call the nurse, if you don't give it back. They hate you, in case you haven't noticed."

Ah, so that's why they chose to glare at him, whenever he asked them to give him some morphine.

"I'm not giving them back," he said and turned around, wanting to return to his bed.

"Oh, God, Sherlock!" Victoria screamed and turned around so rapidly that she had tripped over her own legs. Luckily, she managed to stabilise herself using the armchair. "You're wearing a hospital gown!"

"Aren't you observant," he mocked, frowning at her hectic behaviour. Why was she so red? It looked quite like embarrassment. Well, she _did_ trip a second ago –which was undoubtedly a reason to feel stupid. She could be so graceful, when she wanted… Unfortunately, she rarely wanted.

"Yeah, I am. Which is why I've just _observed_ your naked buttocks, you bloody _idiot_ ," she muttered and glanced at him, only to blush even more. "Why aren't you wearing underwear?"

"Why would I?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows and watching as she rolled her eyes.

"Maybe so you wouldn't _flash_ everyone? Not everyone wants to look at your ass."

"You don't seem to have any problems with it, when I'm fully dressed," he stated and smiled mockingly, when she opened her mouth in shock.

Like he wouldn't notice… Women were so predictable sometimes. Most of the time, he couldn't find _any_ logic in their actions, but they all seemed to be fixated on certain parts of male anatomy –something Janine had told him on more than one occasion. He couldn't care less for female appreciation, but when it came to Victoria… Things felt a bit different. Sherlock couldn't have been more marvelled by the discrepancies between his usual demeanour and the one brought on by the detective's presence.

"The clothes are worn for a _reason,_ you know," the woman finally said and swallowed anxiously. "What would you feel if I suddenly started to strip out of mine?"

Oh, that was an interesting question. Apparently, the sight of a woman shedding her clothes off was supposed to be an aphrodisiac. It never seemed to work on him, though. He considered himself completely immune to all those pathetic _urges_ that seemed to drive other people, clouding their judgements and making them particularly easy to manipulate.

Sherlock couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment, when he started to briefly _wonder_ what would it feel like to actually forget about the restraints he had created for himself. One thing was sure –it had to happen _after_ he had met Victoria. The conclusion was, therefore, extremely simple. His sudden change of heart –even if not a very meaningful one- had something to do with her being _special_. It was a thought both alarming and _fascinating_.

He lived for the thrill, the rush of adrenaline that only drugs and interesting cases could provide. Social interactions bored him, most of the time, but she… She seemed to break that pattern, just like _The Woman_ did. When it came to Victoria, though, things weren't as simple and clear. Miss Adler was, undoubtedly, impressive. Her intellectual prowess was something that Sherlock hadn't encountered before in a woman –or anyone, for that matter. She used her charms and gifts, but not in a way that most people would have. She _played_ them, much like he played his violin. One could never be sure, what resided in that complicated mind of hers.

Victoria, on the other hand, was complicated in her simplicity. Smart –yes, obviously- but still unable to escape the evil clutches of sentiment and boundaries of social code. So perfectly human, and yet so fabulously _different_. Sherlock had realised that her physical resemblance to Irene was incredibly coincidental, because even with all those similarities, he would have troubles finding a set of more different people.

Victoria Radcliffe was the one person, who had managed to make him question the conviction that sentiment only ruined people. Everything she did, she did because of her feelings, which were so obvious that he could read them without even trying to. Understanding them was an entirely different case, but it didn't change the fact that she was like an open book. A book, which turned out to be _extremely_ satisfying to read.

So would he be so opposed to letting her show him other things that might have escaped his attention up to this point? She had proven him wrong on so many different occasions… Maybe she could prove him wrong with _this_ as well? Sherlock almost scoffed at his ridiculous thoughts, but he knew that now that this question appeared in his mind, it wouldn't leave. All the things related to Victoria automatically etched themselves into the walls of his mind palace.

"Sherlock?" the woman asked, frowning. "Please, don't tell me you're actually _thinking_ about me stripping, because things would get _seriously_ awkward."

"Yes, I suppose they would," he muttered, frowning and thinking about the unexpected direction of his thoughts. He had never even considered the possibility of _thinking_ about such a thing. So why was he doing it now? "Go away, I need to think."

He couldn't focus, when she looked at him with those _sparkles_ in her eyes. Sherlock learned that said sparkles tended to evoke a weird sensation in him.. He had, obviously, seen them before in Janine's eyes, whenever she looked at him _naked_. They didn't have such an effect on him, but he could still tell what they meant. Arousal, excitement, longing… He couldn't be exactly sure, which one was it _now_ , but it didn't matter.

Those sparkles were unsettling on their own, but in Victoria's case, they had never been the main cause of his _sensation_. No… The reason for it lied elsewhere –she might have looked at him with excitement, but he could always see her _fear_. The thought of being attracted to him scared her. Why? Why did she refuse to admit to that attraction, which would, after all, be very consistent with her usual transparency, when it came to _feelings_?

He couldn't understand the reason for her fear. He couldn't understand it, and it drove him absolutely _mad_. Sherlock Holmes hated _not knowing_ things. Apparently, he also hated the fact that Victoria Radcliffe felt scared of him. Maybe not of him per se, but of something undoubtedly connected to his person. It bothered him. And he couldn't understand _why_.

"Are you fucking serious? You're kicking me out, because you need to think?! You've just demanded me to talk to you!" she yelled and clenched her fists.

"And now I want you to shut up! All that noise is very distracting."

She looked up to the ceiling and sighed deeply. One second later, she grabbed her things and stormed out of the room, sending him one last glare. Sherlock lied down in bed and closed his eyes, trying to make sense out of his chaotic thoughts. Usually, it was the easiest thing in the world, but now focusing felt incredibly hard; her smell still lingered in the air.

* * *

Seeing Mycroft had never been a particularly _thrilling_ prospect. Sherlock got used to the idea that his brother, out of all people, was also the last person to be trusted. His _arch enemy_ was actually a perfect phrase to describe him, even if it seemed to make other people _amused_ for a reason he couldn't fathom.

Unfortunately, his brother had an unhealthy drive to make Sherlock's life more complicated. He probably did all those things just to spite him, but it still didn't make it any more bearable. Mycroft was the only person, who could conjure up a headache for everyone in a blink of an eye –practically as soon as he had walked into the room. The sight of him had never been pleasant. It also wasn't pleasant now, only a mere hour after he had finally got his peace back.

"Brother mine," Mycroft greeted him with a smile, which couldn't have been more fake. "How are you feeling today?"

"Definitely not in mood for putting up with your ploys, Mycroft," Sherlock answered, not even looking in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his brother closed the door and walked over to the bed.

"Oh, Sherlock. Why would I want to deceive my own brother on such a terrible occasion? Haven't you suffered enough?"

Sherlock looked at him sharply, only to find that Mycroft was still smiling. His eyes remained cold, as per usual, indicating that he had no intentions of telling the truth. He probably came here to threaten his brother, exploiting his temporary incapacity.

"I'm suffering right now."

"You _hurt_ me, brother," Mycroft mocked and sat down in the armchair that had been taken by Victoria earlier in the day. Sherlock clenched his teeth, feeling weirdly disturbed by seeing his brother in _her_ usual spot.

"I find it hard to believe, brother mine. Feelings are a foreign aspect to you," he answered, ignoring his sudden irritation.

"But not to you, aren't they?" Mycroft asked and tilted his head to the side.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed, averting his gaze. Discussing his newly-found… _affection_ didn't seem necessary. Especially, if Mycroft had been on the other end of the conversation.

"I heard you have a fiancée," his brother said and smiled tightly. Fiancée? What on Earth was he talking about? "Oh, so she didn't tell you?"

"Janine and I aren't engaged, Mycroft. I just needed her to get me into Magnussen's office," Sherlock replied, frowning at the thought of his _so called_ relationship. It wasn't the first time he had to sacrifice himself for a case, but it surely felt demanding.

"Yes, and look where it got you," his brother said, nodding his head pitifully. "I wasn't talking about Janine, though."

Sherlock blinked, instantly understanding the meaning behind Mycroft's words. He must have been talking about Victoria. But what had pushed him to come up with such a bold theory? Even with his undetermined feelings towards the detective, his lack of belief in marriages didn't just disappear. Why would he choose to undertake such a ridiculous action as getting engaged to anyone?

"Mycroft, did you hit your head?" he asked, frowning. His brother might have claimed to be the _smart_ Holmes, but he certainly didn't act like it.

"Oh, no. I just listen to the nurses. They gossip. _Very_ exuberantly." Sherlock didn't respond in any way, expecting Mycroft to continue. "They say that your fiancée comes here every day, because she's so worried about you. Not that they can _understand_ her worry, since you're described as the most horrible patient in the entire ward."

"Detective Radcliffe and I are not engaged, Mycroft. In fact, we're not in _any_ sorts of relationship. You're incredibly stupid if you think otherwise."

Mycroft looked at him for a second and then clicked his tongue, forcing Sherlock to scowl. He hated that sound. His brother knew that perfectly, which is why he chose to do this at every single chance he'd got.

"I think it's time we both stopped pretending that Victoria is just like every other, pathetic human being," Mycroft said and suddenly, his face became entirely serious. "I rarely misjudge people, but your little _friend_ has proved me wrong, it would seem."

"Yes, she undoubtedly has the capacity to do that," Sherlock agreed, smiling mockingly. "You shouldn't have considered her to be an idiot."

"Oh, I never have," Mycroft shook his head and smiled tightly. "No, I just assumed that she would use her intelligence in a way that would have ended terribly –for you _and_ for our country."

That was a ludicrous assumption and it only proved that his older brother was blinded by his own arrogance. Victoria Radcliffe might have been complicated, because there wasn't many people like her –loyal, truthful and honest. It came as a surprise, obviously, but she held no ulterior motives for such behaviour. Sherlock could understand why Mycroft would make the mistake of assuming otherwise, but it didn't take much to learn that Victoria was no actress.

Suddenly, he remembered what Victoria had told him about her conversation with Mycroft. His brother was entirely convinced that the physical similarities between her and Irene weren't the only thing that connected them. Yes, his brother would have to be a fool not to worry about such a possibility. However plausible, his concern should have been diminished quickly, because Victoria was exactly who she claimed to be.

"Surprisingly, not unlike in John's case, I misjudged the situation," Mycroft continued, but Sherlock could still see how angry he was at himself. "Turns out, there are people who have no aspirations to watch the world burn."

He stood up and walked over to the window. He glanced outside and frown slightly, before opening his mouth again.

"I may not be able to understand your deep _fascination_ with her. I actually consider it a weakness of yours, as you probably know, but I've come to realise that Miss Radcliffe is a valuable asset. She seems to keep you on your _good behaviour_ ," Mycroft said and glanced at Sherlock, who had to fight to urge to throw something at his brother. That arrogance and pride… Oh, how much he hated those things in Mycroft.

"Does she?" he asked instead of hurting his brother, and looked away.

"Yes. The Kingdom still stands, doesn't it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but refused to answer Mycroft's pompous statement. Like he would ever care for such a trivial thing as destroying the country. He tried to _stop_ everyone from doing precisely that, which was a far more demanding task.

"Quit being so dramatic and tell me what's the reason for your unexpected and –above all else- unpleasant visit."

"I made a mistake, Sherlock," Mycroft stated quietly and turned away from the window. "Unintentional –let me assure you of that- but a mistake, nonetheless."

"What did you do?" he hissed back at his brother, suddenly feeling anxious. He didn't have to wait for Mycroft's answer to know that this alleged mistake had something to do with Victoria. Otherwise, he wouldn't have started the conversation with _that_.

"I've already informed you that Magnussen is… _valuable_ to me. I hoped that maybe you could respect my request, but I still knew better. You, going after Magnussen, didn't come as a surprise."

"What did you _do_?" he asked again, this time with more strength to his tone, and Mycroft looked his way with something resembling _shame_.

"I'm afraid that Victoria is no longer out of his reach, brother mine, even despite your efforts to keep her there."

The tightness in his chest was back again, mixing with boiling anger that suddenly consumed his mind. He felt the urge to get up and smash Mycroft's face against the wall, just like he'd done when he was high.

"He knows that she's important to you, and he now has the _leverage_ to use against you. Well, _another_ leverage would be a better term, but we both know that Victoria is far more important than your drug habit. I believe she's even more important than John."

Sherlock clenched his fists under the cover, not wanting Mycroft to see the obvious sign of his anger. Magnussen didn't need another leverage on him. He already had Mary and her dubious past.

"Have you told him about Victoria's childhood?" Sherlock asked calmly, even if what he really wanted, was to scream.

"I didn't have to, brother."

So he knew. He knew and now he could hold it over her head, just to get Sherlock to back down.

"Get out. Get out before I decide to do something stupid, _brother_ ," he hissed, watching Mycroft frown.

"Sherlock…"

"GET OUT!"

Mycroft clenched his teeth and walked over the door. Before he left, he glanced over his shoulder and said:

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Sherlock. I really am."

Mycroft wasn't capable of feeling sorry. Sherlock spent many years thinking what it would feel like to have a _normal_ brother, or to _be_ normal. Those were just thoughts, though. He never actually allowed himself to _wish_ that things could be different. Never, up to this point.

Because maybe if Mycroft had been normal, he wouldn't have put Victoria in danger. And maybe -just _maybe-_ Sherlock would know how to explain the bitterness he was feeling.


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hello there! Let me just start by saying how deeply sorry I am. This chapter was supposed to be _twice_ this long, but I've decided to cut it in half. I usually hate doing this, but we've arrived at... well, sort of a "breaking-point" and I honestly feel like I'm losing my shit xD Another chapter from Sherlock's POV, so if you have any advice, PLEAAAAASE let me know. I don't like asking for reviews, but now I kind of need them! A lot of things and FEELINGS happening here, people. **

**Having said that... Thank you so, so much from the lovely reviews from the last chapter. I'm so happy that you think I've done a good job with portraying Sherlock and I just really hope that this one won't disappoint you.**

 **AvaFyre : Thank you! I always try to end a chapter with a bang, so I'm really glad you noticed. I hope the last sentence in this one will be good too ^^**

 **Ridethelightning26 : There's more of Sherlock's feelings for you! A LOT of them. Let me know what you think, because I'm quite nervous about it all :D**

 **Marianagmt : You're right. Sherlock is absolutely precious when it comes to his misapprehension of... well, most of the emotions-related things. I wonder what you're going to think of this chapter... :D**

 **crzychigurl343: Thank you, thank you, thank you! It honestly feels _amazing_ to know that this story is appreciated by so many people, and reviews such as yours are making me so proud and motivated... You have no idea! I really hope you're going to enjoy reading and I look forward to your opinions ^^**

 **f tforever2013: I'm so happy you think so. Also, pretty good timing, since the chapter is here now, haha :D Hope you'll like it! **

**AND NOW... ENJOY. Gosh, I'm nervous xD**

* * *

"You're awfully quiet. Why?"

Her voice woke him up from a trance, but he couldn't find the strength to get mad. Usually, he would become _furious_ with anyone, who dared to interrupt his meditation, but hearing her was always pleasant. Something about the tone of her voice made him calm, much like the sound of his violin.

Sherlock wasn't mad, or even irritated by the fact that Victoria chose to speak. In fact, he would describe his current state of mind as _slightly_ disturbed. He didn't even notice the moment of her arrival, because he was too busy thinking about all of the possible solutions to keep her safe from Magnussen; to keep everyone safe.

"When did you get here?" he asked, slightly dumbfounded, and she snorted in response.

"An hour ago," she replied with amusement, shaking her head. "Seriously, Sherlock. I'm used to your silence, but today it feels… _different_."

"How can silence feel different?" he asked, scowling at the thought, but Victoria didn't seem to mind.

"You're worried. And I know that you're not telling me something, which stresses me out. _That's_ how."

She could be so smart and observant if she wanted to. Sherlock looked at her and noticed that she was wearing a new shirt –black, with tiny silvery flowers on it. Somehow, it made her skin look more pale, but her eyes… Her eyes seemed much bluer than they were yesterday.

"Mycroft was here," he said, frowning instantly, when those words left his mouth. Just a second ago, he had no intentions of telling her the truth. All it took to change his mind, was looking at her for the tiniest moment. The sight of her tears had etched itself into his mind so, so deep… Even if he wanted it gone, that one memory he couldn't filter.

Sherlock watched as Victoria stiffened considerably, trying to keep her face straight. Most people would probably applaud her for the emotionless expression she'd put up, but he knew better than to believe it. Mycroft made her uneasy, as he probably should.

"I take it he didn't want to wish you a quick recovery," she muttered and frowned slightly, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Such a behaviour was utterly improbable, when it came to his brother.

"No. He came here to tell me that Magnussen is no longer unaware of your… _importance._ "

Victoria opened her mouth and closed it right away. Sherlock expected her to be frightened, even if just a little, but she seemed more irritated than anything else.

"And that man claims to be _intelligent_ ," she snorted and sighed deeply. "I assume it changes things."

Sherlock nodded, looking at her cautiously, but he still couldn't find any traces of fear. Didn't she understand how dangerous Magnussen was? He posed a threat to _everyone_ who had the misfortune of crossing paths with him. Victoria's situation was far more complicated, because of her affiliation with Sherlock. Couldn't she see that?

"Magnussen has information about Mary's past. But now, he also has _you_ –another pressure point he can use against me."

Her face softened and she smiled weakly. With a surprise, he realised that his words might have been considered… _nice_. To someone as emotional as Victoria, they undoubtedly were. Was that why he said them? To make her feel better?

"Don't worry about me, Sherlock. Mary's past is important. Mine? Not so much… Even if your brother has slipped Magnussen those information, he still had the decency to come clean about it. I'm pretty sure that he won't let Magnussen _ruin_ me."

" _I_ won't let him," Sherlock immediately stated and frowned. "I just have to find an acceptable solution. Which is why I need my silence."

She smiled and looked down for a moment, turning a page of her book.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked, and the answer to her question came as a surprise. No, he didn't mind. He couldn't exactly tell why, but the thought of having her close made him calmer. As long as she sat in her chair, he didn't have to worry.

"Just be quiet," he answered and looked away only to glance at her again a second later.

He had never spent much time thinking about the dangers of his lifestyle. Those dangers were the exact reason why his… _job_ could prevent him from seeking drugs. He didn't care about his life, or anybody else's for that matter. People lived, people died –end of story.

But then John came and things changed, even if he had failed to acknowledge it at first. He was adamant when it came to believing that sentiment was useless and _toxic_ to such a brilliant, sharp mind like his. Sherlock couldn't understand what was so _different_ about John Watson, but something in him melted down those walls of indifference, forcing Holmes to face yet another riddle –friendship.

Even still, Dr Watson had never come close to having such an effect on him like the woman sitting in the armchair. Victoria Radcliffe was _nothing_ like John Watson, and it seemed to affect him even more, in ways he couldn't fully grasp. His mind – his precious, clear and sharp mind – was now riddled with distinctive feelings, which he couldn't sort out.

Life had never had a _meaning_ for him. It went on, and on, until it didn't. But _she_ … The thought of her life ending made him scared, and Sherlock certainly didn't enjoy that feeling. He shouldn't be this way, he shouldn't _feel_ like this. Not over someone else, not over _anything_. But arguing something that was so evident and so clear made no sense whatsoever. Those feelings were there, irritating him and making it impossible to think.

What should he do? About _her,_ about Magnussen, about _everything_ … What was the right answer?

He didn't know.

* * *

"Sherlock… Sherlock, are you listening to me?" John's angry voice reached his ears, giving him the urge to roll his eyes.

 _Of course_ he wasn't listening.

"Of course I am, John," he answered, knowing that his friend wouldn't believe him, but it would at least make him stop talking, even if for a second.

"Christ, Sherlock..." Watson looked towards the ceiling – something he tended to do very often, especially in distress. Holmes glanced at him and smiled falsely, forcing John to sit down in defeat. "My wife has turned out to be an _assassin_ and you still cannot listen to me even for a…"

"Yes, well, we have a bigger problem, John," Sherlock interrupted.

"If you say Magnussen, I'm gonna…"

"Magnussen."

"…kill you."

Sherlock looked at his friend, who clenched his teeth, visibly dissatisfied with Holmes' answer.

"Well, that's unfortunate, because I could really use your help," the consulting detective said and watched John's face light up in surprise.

"You _what_?"

"Is your hearing impaired?"

"No?"

"Then why do I need to repeat myself?!" he asked and scowled. "I said I could use your help."

"Since when is _that_ a thing?" John answered, raising his eyebrows. So typical of him, to waste precious time… Sherlock honestly wondered why his first instinct was to undermine _everything,_ instead of just cooperating. Lives were at stake here –his _wife's_ life included. Shouldn't he care?

"Magnussen knows about Victoria and I don't know what to do."

Watson didn't answer at first. He just looked at Sherlock with a confused expression, and then he sighed deeply.

"What does it change?"

"I had a plan to save Mary. I'm not sure if it will work now that the situation's changed."

"Why wouldn't it?" John asked and Sherlock frowned slightly.

"Because in Victoria's case, it's not enough to simply _destroy_ some information."

"You realise that I'm not going to be of any help, if you stay so cryptic?" Watson mocked in response. While Sherlock knew that his friend was _probably_ right, which didn't happen a lot, he wasn't exactly sure if there was a different way to conduct this conversation.

It hadn't occurred to him until now, but the reasons for his concern for Victoria were… _personal_. Holmes had felt no need to share her secrets with anyone, including John. Maybe he couldn't understand why she wanted to even keep those information a secret, but he certainly felt like their… _relationship_ demanded that he kept them to himself. All her lectures about trust, about humanity seemed to have taken their toll on him –finally, one would say. Sherlock wasn't sure if he would have chosen that term, but there could be no denying the fact that Victoria stirred something in him. Something that made it impossible for him to talk about her secrets, apparently.

"If she hasn't told you, neither can I," he said, looking away, just to pretend that he didn't see the surprise in John's eyes.

"Sherlock!" Watson said with sudden agitation that ruined Holmes' plan to ignore him. "You have _feelings_ for her!"

He rolled his eyes at that statement. Of course John had managed to exaggerate everything and blow it out of proportions. Sherlock knew all too well that his friend didn't just mean these words in a "you _like her_ " sense. No, he probably heard the wedding bells ringing in his head, which only confirmed the theory that he was absolutely mad.

"Yes, John. Victoria and I have grown to be _friends_. Could you please stop making a big deal out of it?"

"No, no, no… No." John smiled and pointed his finger at Sherlock with excitement. "That look _right there_ …"

"Yes, that's my face," he said with irritation, but Watson ignored his snarky remark.

"…I've _never_ seen it before. Not on _you_." What was he talking about? "You're genuinely concerned about her!"

"As you should be too," Sherlock pointed out and frowned. "Instead of clinging to the most _irrelevant_ part of this conversation, why don't we go back to the pressing matter at hand, which is Magnussen?"

John didn't stop smiling, but at least he lowered his hand and Holmes took it as a sign that maybe they would be able to talk after all.

"Do you think that you would have changed the plan, if Victoria wasn't in danger? If it was someone else instead?"

No. No, he wouldn't have changed it. Sherlock had made a promise to protect the Watsons –all three of them. His plan guaranteed just that. Destroying information about Mary's past was the most important thing here and it should have put her on a pedestal of sorts. To his surprise –it really didn't.

Victoria's eyes appeared in his mind once again and he squeezed his fists involuntarily. He didn't have to make a promise to her. His mind refused to accept the possibility of her getting hurt anyway.

"You know, you don't have to keep pretending that you don't care for her," John said quietly and Sherlock looked at him sharply. "Victoria is not someone, who would ever limit you. I couldn't see it at first, but she's actually good for you."

"Good for me?" he asked, lacing his voice with doubt, but in all the honesty, his interest was piqued.

"Yes. Good for you." Watson nodded and his smile broadened. "She seems to understand you, and her acceptance of your… well, terrible character, made you more receptive to the possibility that maybe not _every_ sentiment is bad."

He averted his gaze, feeling outraged by his friend's assessment. John probably didn't mean his words like an insult, but it surely felt that way. Sherlock was a high-functioning sociopath, which –by default – meant that he didn't _understand_ sentiment, nor did he care for it. He just observed what it did to people. Observed and prepared himself to use it against them, if such a need arose.

What Victoria had done, had nothing to do with making him _receptive_ to any possibilities at all. She somehow _forced_ him to acknowledge them, without his consent, without his knowledge. He became aware of the existence of those treacherous and foreign emotions, when he'd realised that he might actually _lose_ her. He didn't know how it happened. He didn't know why.

All he knew was that this _affection_ was there and he didn't want it. It became his weakness – one of many, perhaps. But it also became the one weakness that Magnussen wouldn't hesitate to use against him. It was far more important than his drug habit. It was far more important, than _anything_ he could possibly think of.

Suddenly, the answer to the questions bugging him became obvious. Whatever he was feeling, it needed to go away if he didn't want to lose this battle.

"My feelings for her are unwanted and highly disturbing," he stated and frowned. "They shouldn't change the way I look at things. They shouldn't influence my chain of thoughts, which I know is _perfect_."

"That's not what I…" John started, but Sherlock looked at him and smiled falsely.

"Thank you, John. You can be quite useful, when you're making an effort."

"Sherlock…"

"Go away. I need to think."

Holmes briefly noticed the anger on his friend's face, but he ignored it, sinking deeply into his own mind. The decision he'd made was final. Victoria Radcliffe might have affected him in more ways, than he thought were possible. She made him question his very basic conviction to stay focused only on his work and to shut out everything even remotely human –feelings included. A part of him wanted to let her win. It wanted to explore those different areas of life, which had stayed inaccessible for such a long time. But the other part –the logical, _brilliant_ one- knew that he needed to stay focused on things that really mattered and that only he could do. Stopping Magnussen was one of them.

His decision was final. Even if it felt like the worst mistake he'd ever made. Even if all he could see were Victoria's tears that made his stomach turn violently. His decision was final.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't supposed to be here. Not only because he still waited for his discharge from the hospital, but also because seeing her could only make things worse. He had tried very hard to stop feeling so conflicted about this entire situation, but his efforts seemed futile. His thoughts kept coming back to the one thing that made him feel _terrified_.

Magnussen could turn her life into a ruin, and Sherlock would do nothing to prevent that from happening, if it meant that Mary, John and their unborn child were safe. He couldn't rule out the possibility that the deal he'd planned on offering him would be good enough to save _everyone_ , but it was just a hope –a fleeting thought that made his stomach turn angrily. Sherlock Holmes didn't _hope_. He planned and he succeeded.

The fact that this situation had forced him to just accept that some of the things were out of his control only made him feel worse. It was disturbing and it began to drive him completely mad. So he did the only thing that he could. He decided to warn her, even if it went against his earlier resolution to make those feelings disappear and to _save himself_.

The door to her apartment was locked, but it posed no difficulties to him. He'd broken into that place so many times that even _she_ had probably stopped counting. To Sherlock's surprise, the flat was empty, or at least it seemed that way. It took him a couple of seconds to decide that Victoria had to be in her bathroom –there was a pale stream of light coming from underneath the door. The flat was silent though. Too silent for his liking.

Without any signs of hesitation, he walked up to the door and pushed the handle. It wasn't locked and he took it as a good sign. That is, until he'd heard her scream.

"What the fuck, Holmes?!" she yelled, desperately trying to cover her body with her hands. Apparently, the silence meant she was taking _a bath_.

He couldn't stop himself from looking at her with a rather _weird_ feeling coiling in his stomach. His eyes seemed to be _drawn_ to her skin, which was glistening with the water. Part of her body was covered by the foam, but he could still see her legs and the cleavage, created by her hands squeezing her breasts together, in an attempt to cover them.

"Get the fuck out of here!" she yelled again and he forced himself to look at her face.

A deep shade of red covered her cheeks, letting him know that she felt embarrassed, or ashamed even. The fire in her –usually- calm eyes said a lot about the anger she felt. Why was she ashamed of her body? From what he knew about female proportions, Victoria should be considered attractive to anyone, who found such things relevant.

"Why?" he asked genuinely surprised and the woman in the bathtub opened her mouth in outrage.

" _Why?!_ Because I'm freaking _naked_ in here!" Victoria said, forcing him to frown.

"It's not like I have never seen a naked woman before."

He had. On many occasions. This time felt different, though –exciting, maybe. Sherlock guessed that if he had looked into the mirror on the wall, he would notice that his pupils were dilated, matching his suddenly increased heart rate. It was almost a textbook description of arousal. He blinked, opening his mouth in surprise, once he'd realised that apparently his _feelings_ had progressed to a whole different level, giving him all the more reasons to walk out of her place _and_ life.

He didn't. He just stood there, watching her and thinking about what was it about that _sight_ that made him incapable of controlling his own reactions.

"You have never seen _me_ naked!" She yelled, but when he chose not to respond, she cursed quietly and covered her eyes with her palm. Sherlock didn't fail to notice that her breasts were now hidden by only _one_ hand, and he swallowed hard.

"Yes, I must admit, it is a rather disturbing experience," he answered and tilted his head.

"Turn. Around," Victoria growled and when he still continued to just stare at her blankly, she splashed him with water. It helped him to find the strength to move, so he finally did what she asked of him. "I want you to know that I feel a _strong urge_ to punch you. Hard. And repeatedly."

What did he do _now_? Shouldn't she be flattered by his unexpected behaviour? Janine had always forced him to appreciate her _feminine charm._

"Why aren't you in the hospital?" Before he could share his thoughts with her, Victoria broke the silence, sounding obviously unhappy. "You've texted me to stay away, because you needed to _think_. Why the hell are you in my apartment then?"

"I'm done thinking. I needed to talk to you."

"And why did you feel the need to do it in _my bathroom_ , huh?"

"Feels as good as any other place," Sherlock answered and swayed on his feet, when the woman stormed past him, exiting the room. He followed her swiftly, noticing that her feet left wet marks on the floor. She was cladded in nothing but a short, blue towel that complimented her skin tone.

When did he start to pay attention to such things? Apparently his stay in the hospital had made him lose his mind. He raised his gaze, fixing it on her wet, dripping hair, only to flick it back to the edge of the towel a moment later. She had _a scar_ on her left thigh. Where did she get it?

"Could you please stop looking at my ass?" she asked and turned around to send him a furious look. "And _don't_ follow me into my bedroom."

Before he could answer, she shut the door behind her with a loud bang, allowing him to finally _breathe_. He didn't even realise that he was holding his breath, until she'd left him alone in the room with nothing, but a raging chaos in his mind.

His _visit_ wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Sherlock wanted to tell her that he simply couldn't risk Mary's future, and that she was now in danger. He wanted to ask her to come to the _ridiculous_ Christmas party that his mother wanted to organise, just to make sure that she wouldn't be accused of anything, once he had followed through with his plan. Mycroft had to know that she took no part in his little scheme. It was the _only_ way that he could think of to keep her moderately safe.

So why was he standing still, looking at the entrance to her bedroom, instead of just saying those things and leaving? Why couldn't he stop thinking about that little scar? That little, unimportant thing that marred the smooth surface of her pale skin… _Why_?

" _You have feelings for her, Sherlock!"_ John's voice rang in his mind and he closed his eyes, wanting to shut it off completely. But he couldn't. It kept coming back with more and more force, until there was nothing else, but those ridiculous and outraging words that seemed truer by each minute.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" He felt her palm on his shoulder and he snapped his eyes open, noticing that Victoria's face expressed worry. Even after he had managed to anger her _somehow_ , she still cared for his well-being. Just like he cared for hers, even after he decided that he _shouldn_ ' _t._

"I don't want to have feelings for you," he stated, before he could stop himself, and he watched as her eyes widened in surprise. Her mouth opened slightly, making his gaze flicker to her lips.

It was the second time, when he couldn't help, but to think about the _idea_ of kissing her. He didn't want to actually do it back then, but now… Now things seemed different. He could see all the tiny droplets of water running down the smooth surface of her cheeks, only to disappear in the cleavage of her shirt. He could see the way she bit down on her lower lip, unsure of what to say. He could see all those things and they made the feeling from few minutes ago return with a doubled force.

"Then don't." Her answer forced him to meet her gaze once more. Sherlock could easily tell that despite her words, she didn't actually _want_ him to take her advice. Her breaths were faster than normal and even in the dim light he could see the pink hue on her cheeks.

"How do I do that?"

"I'm probably not the best person to answer that question," she muttered and lowered her gaze, taking a step back. "Even if I knew how to do this, I don't think it would work for you."

"Why not?" he asked, frowning.

"Because you're _you_ , Sherlock." She sighed and shook her head. "Nothing is the way it's _supposed_ to be, when it comes to you."

Should he know what she meant? Probably. He didn't though, but he could still feel that her tone was laced with irritation and something that sounded similar to the tone of Mary's voice, when she begged him not to tell John anything –desperation.

"What…" Before he could finish, Victoria's phone started ringing and she jumped to answer the call.

Sherlock sighed with irritation, but didn't say a word. The tension in the air suddenly disappeared, leaving him almost numb. He had never had problems with indecision, or even hesitation. But right now, he couldn't stop himself from thinking that maybe he really _couldn't_ simply get rid of his feelings. He didn't understand what was so special about her, but something certainly was.

Even Irene Adler, _The_ Woman, couldn't make him act like this. She sparked his interest, she manipulated him into _almost_ thinking about her in a way he did not want to think in. _Almost_ was the crucial word here. Because the Dominatrix still failed in the end. She had lost at her own game and _she_ was the one who ended up with feelings, not the other way around. What she _couldn't_ have done, Victoria seemed to have no problems with. Sherlock was sure that she wasn't even trying -not really.

He had seen the extent of the effort that women could go through in order to get a man they wanted. Victoria had no intentions of using him or manipulating him. If Sherlock knew anything, it was how to spot _lies_. And she wasn't lying. She was all about the truth –a trait he found ridiculous at times. But it was special, he couldn't deny that. Something about her _changed_ him. And if she was the only one in his life to achieve that… Getting rid of her would never be possible. Even with his complete misapprehension of how those things worked, he _knew_ it. Just as she invaded his thoughts now, she would continue to do so, because he couldn't forget _anything_ related to her.

He remembered the first time, when he noticed her dilated pupils and the way her breath quickened, while she was listening to his violin. He couldn't forget the way her hair smelled, or the warmth, emanating from her body, whenever she got close to him. But most importantly, he couldn't stop thinking that all those things had always made him _feel good_. Not trapped, not irritated, or angry. Just good and calm.

Suddenly, he understood John's words. Victoria was like clay, which moulded around him, fitting his space perfectly and slowly shaping him into something else – something, that his brother would undoubtedly condemn and write off as pitiful. But it wasn't really, was it?

He met her gaze and she smiled weakly, keeping the eye contact until the very end of her phone call. When she finally put the cell down, a sigh escaped her lips.

"I have to go. There's been another alley murder," Victoria said and he nodded slightly. "I still haven't solved it. I'm starting to think that I never will."

"I'll help you, once I've dealt with Magnussen."

"Thank you, Sherlock," she said and frowned. "What did you want to talk about?"

Holmes blinked rapidly, remembering his original reason for coming here. He couldn't just tell her that he chose Mary's safety over hers. Something about it just didn't _feel_ right anymore.

"My mother is organising a Christmas party. I want you to be there," he stated instead and looked down towards the floor, making a mental note to figure out what exactly had stopped him from telling the _truth_. "She wants to celebrate my discharge from the hospital."

Victoria raised her eyebrows with amusement.

"Does she know that you escaped your bed to break into someone's apartment?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted and clasped his hands behind his back. "Will you be there?"

"Just text me the details," she said and went past him towards the bathroom. Her arm brushed against his and he couldn't stop himself from just closing his eyes and give into his _biggest_ weakness.

Just like he hated the idea of having any pressure points, this one… This one, even if it made no sense to him, he could actually treasure.


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: I suck. Turns out, universities aren't so great. Especially before Christmas. Anyways, I had no time to finish the chapter and I'm really sorry for that, even though I couldn't really help it.**

 **But it's here, finally. It's written both from Sherlock and Victoria's POV, so that's something new. I think I'll stick to that though. And to answer your lovely reviews...**

 **curlystruggle : I know, right? Well, I can tell you, there's going to be a lot of similar feelings in this chapter :D But we're getting close, I promise :D**

 **Idris'Doctor : Thank you, I'm happy you loved it! Hope this one will be good too ^^**

 **Ridethelightning26 : You're not the only one that's happy! And more development is coming... As for the length of the chapters. I try to stick with my average 5000 words, but this one is a little longer, since it's 6000. But I prefer to write chapters more often, than to keep you waiting for over a month. I think it's better, because you don't have so much time to forget what's happening :) But the next one is probably going to be longer, since I have free time now :)**

 **crzychigurl343 : Well, John can be clueless sometimes, especially when it comes to dealing with Sherlock. But honestly, no one could foresee Sherlock's reaction sometimes. And as for his plans... Well, I try to stick with the canon as much as possible. I only accomodate it to suit my action, and to make sane out of everything. But don't worry, I think everything through, so it should be good :D**

 **Rose: I cannot tell you how happy I was that you've decided to take some time and write such a wonderful review! Thank you so much, it surealy means a lot! I wasn't sure if I could succeed at such a difficult task, but I'm really proud of myself, especially when I'm reading reviews like yours! I hope that my story will continue to entertain you! :)**

 **And, last but not least, I wanted to wish you all a Happy New Year and to everyone who's celebrating - Merry Christmas. All the best, love you!**

 **Since it's Christmas, I've been thinking about writing a "bonus" one-shot, with Sherlock and Victoria in it, but it wouldn't be exactly related to my story. It would be fun, probably fluffy and cute, but not without Sherlock's attitude. How would you feel about that? Let me know!**

 **It was a very long A/N, so I'm shutting up now. Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had always hated Christmas. There wasn't a single reason for him to like it, as this time of the year seemed to bring out the worst personality traits in people. Watching everyone smile and laugh, without meaning _any of it_ made him disgusted, just as their equally false wishes. Everything about that time, from the colourful decorations, to the overwhelming scent of gingerbread, haunted his nightmares. Or at least, it would haunt them if he could remember his dreams.

The fact that his mother chose to organise a Christmas party to celebrate his discharge from the hospital was… truly depressing. Sherlock knew that if it wasn't for his _devious_ plans of drugging everyone and then leaving to meet Magnussen, he would be inclined to think that he had just found himself in the depths of hell. How else could he describe having to spend time with both his parents _and_ his brother? Even John and Mary's presence couldn't soothe his irritation that kept boiling in him since he arrived at the house.

Victoria was running late –which was something she rarely did. Of course, she tended to ignore his text messages demanding her to come to Baker Street, but she never actually allowed herself to be late to anything important. Her absence had led him to think about dozens of different reasons that could have stopped her. Only one of them didn't assume her harm. Murderers rarely rested and Christmas Eve was definitely a good day to kill someone –he could relate to that _urge_.

Finally, the doorbell rang and he twitched, looking at Wiggins, who stood in the kitchen, observing his environment with curiosity.

"Wiggins, open the door," he said and his _assistant_ pushed himself away from the counter, to Sherlock's mother's dismay.

"Sherlock! Bill is our guest, even if I'm not entirely sure _why_ ," she scolded him with an angry expression, but Wiggins had already gone to answer the door. "And who could that be?! It's Christmas!"

"My girlfriend," he stated calmly, watching as everyone in the room stiffened visibly.

Even Mycroft couldn't help, but to offer him a look filled with confusion.

"Girlfriend?!" His mother chirped happily, after a moment, and Sherlock forced himself to smile. "How come you never told us?! Oh, never mind, I have to meet her!"

The woman left in a hurry, leaving Sherlock alone with his brother. For a moment, they both seized each other up, until Mycroft had finally broken the silence.

"So… _Girlfriend_ , brother mine?" he asked mockingly. "Does she know about the development in your relationship?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the only way I could have explained her presence here," Sherlock answered and scowled.

"Do you think Detective Radcliffe will be pleased with your lie?" Mycroft said and smiled coldly. "She doesn't strike me as a person, who is at peace with such manipulative behaviour."

"She didn't strike you as an intelligent person either, and look at her now," Sherlock clasped his hands together, tilting his head. "She's managed to make a fool out of the infamous Mycroft Holmes, the most powerful man in the Kingdom."

A shadow crossed Mycroft's face and Sherlock knew he'd won this round. His victory was only strengthened by the arrival of his mother, with a very odd-looking Victoria trailing behind her.

She looked… different. In fact, Sherlock couldn't help, but to stare at her figure, cladded in a flimsy, pale blue dress. He had never seen her in such an outfit before. She always wore pants and jackets –to make her look more masculine, he presumed. She wanted to be perceived as a professional detective, not a _woman_. He had gotten so used to that image of her that he completely forgot that usually women chose more flattering type of clothing –not that it ever bothered him.

Once he'd managed to raise his gaze from her body to her face, he'd noticed that Mycroft's words may have been right. Even though she was smiling, Sherlock could tell that she was angry –furious, even. Her eyes glared at him with a deadly force, and he decided that his main objective should be to call her down, before she exploded.

He got up from the chair and walked over to her, smiling falsely.

"Hello, darling," he greeted and leaned towards her, kissing her cheek. "Bear with me," he added in a hushed tone, so that only she could hear him. Victoria's expression changed from pissed to surprised, but it was still an improvement.

"Hi, _Sherl_ ," she said, accentuating the second word and giving him the urge to flinch. He didn't though, mainly because his focus went to Mycroft, who tried very hard not to laugh. "I'm sorry for being late. I had to help Lestrade with something."

"Oh, you're a police officer?!" His mother squealed. "No wonder Sherlock's fallen for you, my dear!"

"Yes, mother, thank you," he said and wrapped his arm around Victoria, leading her out of the kitchen.

He basically dragged her along his side. They entered the living room that was occupied by Mary and John, who still weren't speaking to each other.

"Oh, Victoria, it's nice to see…" Mary started, but Sherlock cut her off.

"Not now!"

A minute later, he closed the door behind them, once they entered his old bedroom.

"What the hell, Sherlock?!" Victoria growled at him, freeing herself from his grasp. "You've told your mother that I'm your _girlfriend?!_ "

"Yes," he admitted, which only seemed to make her more furious.

"How dare you lie to your mother like that?! How dare you manipulate me?!"

"My mother has forced me to come to this pitiful event, and the information about me being in a relationship has actually made her happy, so…"

"So it's still bloody wrong! You _lied_ to her! How do you think she'll feel once she's learned that we are not a thing?!"

"Oh, I was actually hoping that she won't have to."

Victoria fell silent for a moment, but she didn't stop looking positively outraged. Finally she shook her head and walked over to his bed, sitting down with exasperation.

"I cannot _believe you_ , Holmes. You didn't even consider a possibility that I might _not_ be okay with lying to your mother? Because I'm not."

"How else could I explain why I've invited you here?" he asked, frowning, while she crossed her arms on her chest.

"By telling the truth?!" The detective frowned. "Why did you invite me here?!"

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it. Why did he feel as if it was a very tricky question? He invited her, because he wanted her to be here –he told her as much. Of course, he had failed to mention anything about his plans to drug her and leave her here along with his entire family, Mary and Wiggins, but telling her wouldn't be a good idea. She could decide that she wants to go with him, and he couldn't have it. Victoria was a distraction, which was why he needed to know that she was be safe, while he negotiated with Magnussen.

"Because I wanted you to be here," he answered slowly. He really did. For more than one reason, apparently. Seeing her sitting on his bed, dressed in such a feminine outfit was truly a sight he would remember. He knew that women often tried to look nice, when they wanted to gain appreciation, and his guess was that she'd done that solely for _him_. "You look nice."

"Are you kidding me?!" she yelled, making him confused. He had just told her that he _noticed_ her effort. Why did it make her angrier? "You can't just lie to everyone that I'm your girlfriend and then try to slither your way out of this by paying me compliments!"

"I wasn't trying to…" he broke off and clenched his teeth. Just when he thought he had grasped the philosophy behind having a _relationship_ with someone, Victoria opened her mouth and smashed his idea to tiny little pieces. Only she could do that. Same thing happened the last time he'd seen her, after all. He had a very clear plan, but it only took seeing her _naked_ to make it go out of the window. "I was just trying to be nice."

Victoria blinked and then stood up, sighing deeply.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she said, looking at him with a frown. "If I have to play along, promise me to at least come clean to her eventually. She's your mother, you know. You might think she's stupid, but from what I've seen, she cares about you. That's more than I can say about mine," she added quietly and Sherlock found himself at loss for words.

Her tone sounded just like it did, when she was telling him the story of her childhood. It was bitter and full of emotions. He couldn't understand them back then, but now, he didn't have any trouble deciphering that she was simply _hurt._ Hurt, because of the injustice life had dropped upon her. Hurt, because of being left alone by the only people, who, by definition, should love her no matter what.

Sherlock decided that he _regretted_ not looking for her father. If he had found him, Magnussen wouldn't have anything to threaten her with. If he had found him, at least he would be able to say that the person responsible for the look in her eyes, had been punished.

"My mother thinks you're my girlfriend, so she'll begin to smother you to death, like we were already married," he muttered absentmindedly, before he could really think about it, and Victoria looked at him with shock.

Oh. He shouldn't have said that. It sounded awfully like he had _considered_ such a possibility and it was _not_ his intention. Sherlock Holmes didn't want to get married, even if Victoria had turned out to be a very… _different_ company. His words came off as inappropriate, but he had said them out of something that could only be described as empathy. He wanted to cheer her up, he realised with surprise.

What surprised him even more, was her laughter that filled the air. It was warm and rich, and it managed to make him feel a bit light-headed for an unknown reason.

"You're so oblivious sometimes, Sherlock," she said, giggling lightly. "But hell, I can't stay mad at you, when you're obviously trying to fix things."

Yes, he was trying to do just that. Most people would probably accuse him of ruining things even more, but not her – never her. Victoria had this weird way of seeing through his awkward behaviour, through his rudeness and craziness. She didn't try to make him _boring_ at all costs. She adapted to his madness, reading it and trying to teach him how to deal with it on his own. She offered him a chance, after chance, until he'd learned from his mistakes. Was that why he developed certain feelings for her?

"Good," he answered, pushing away his inner musings. "I don't want to explain to my mother that we broke up, because of a fight in _her house_."

"Yeah, that would be a terrible idea." Victoria nodded her head and smiled.

"Just try not to get caught under a mistletoe. That would be rather…"

She raised her eyebrows, looking at him expectantly, and he realised that he really didn't know how to express his thoughts. Kissing her would certainly be awkward. Awkward, inappropriate and terribly out of character, at least for him. On the other hand, he couldn't exactly describe the idea as ludicrous. He had thought about it on more than one occasion, after all, and it didn't feel _repulsive_.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and as if on cue, she bit her bottom lip. Sherlock tilted his head, almost mesmerised by the view and the sudden increase in his heart rate.

"Rather…" he started again and frowned. "Awkwardly… alluring?"

She stopped biting her lip and looked at him with shock. He couldn't help, but to notice the pink hue on her cheeks that somehow managed to make her look even _nicer_ , at least in his eyes. Sherlock still couldn't exactly explain why and _when_ did he start to notice such things anyway, but denying it no longer felt like a solution.

"I'll make sure not to stop under any of those evil things," she whispered and cleared her throat, snapping him out of the daze.

"Good –yeah, that's good."

"Good."

He clasped his hands behind his back and frowned, wondering why the tension was still lingering in the air, even after they had put that matter behind them. Maybe it was because they were standing so close to each other? Maybe he should just take a step back and lead her out of the room?

He didn't really want to, though. Something about the idea of simply _exploring_ those newly found feelings seemed incredibly tempting, especially considering the task awaiting him in less than an hour. Sherlock wasn't a fool to just assume that Magnussen would accept his offer. Things could still go very, very wrong, and the consequences of such a turn of events would be truly tragic. There was a _slight_ possibility that he might not be able to see Victoria for a very long time –or ever, for that matter.

Would it really be such a ludicrous idea to give in to the temptation? It certainly seemed a better solution, than going to prison for the rest of his life without having the certainty that he really was able to develop this sort of feelings for _anyone_. Sherlock knew the way his brain worked. Once it got fixated upon something, it never let go. He had a feeling that the idea of kissing her would haunt his thoughts for quite a long time, tormenting him and making his imprisonment even worse.

However, he couldn't also rule out the possibility that Magnussen would agree to his offer, leaving him with plenty of opportunities to test his _affection_. Or to get rid of it. In all the honesty, Sherlock wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about any of it.

"I _really_ need a drink," Victoria muttered, shaking her head and storming past him. He turned around, only to see her figure disappear.

Well, he couldn't exactly say that such a turn of events wasn't beneficial, but it had certainly left him surprised. He was almost completely sure that her abrupt leave was similar to running away –which seemed to prove his theory that Victoria Radcliffe was scared of being attracted to him. Sherlock had made this observation quite some time ago, but he still couldn't fathom why she would feel that way. Of course, he couldn't also understand the reason for her attraction, because, as far as he knew, none of his personality traits qualified as _attractive,_ at least according to those ridiculous books he'd read.

Even still, Sherlock found that it was really flattering –flattering in a way he had never expected. Sure, he couldn't get enough of listening to everyone praising his intelligence and brilliance. He had never expected that someone appreciating him in the most primitive, physical way, would be this pleasant.

The thought of someone being scared of said attraction frustrated him. He could understand being repulsed by it, or even disgusted, but fear… It wasn't logical, was it? As long as she only wanted to have intercourse with him, he couldn't find one single reason for her to be afraid. As long as she…

"Oh…" he muttered to himself, once he realised something important.

Victoria wasn't just _attracted_ to him. How come it had never occurred to him before? He wouldn't describe his own state as something so primitive… No doubt that someone as complicated and emotional as Victoria, would manage to develop some sort of feelings for him. Affection, or maybe… Maybe even something more.

Could it really be possible that she had fallen for him? Was that what it was? And how would that make him feel? Sherlock had no doubts that a couple of months ago, he would be truly disgusted by the entire idea. He would mock her, hurt her and then _pretend_ to be sorry, even though he wasn't ever capable of feeling this way. But right now… Right now he swallowed hard and followed her out of the room, with his heart beating erratically and palms sweating for an unknown reason. To his great surprise, none of those symptoms could have been described as _unpleasant_.

Exciting –that's what it was. Exciting _and_ dangerous, he realised. She had, once again, managed to invade all of his thoughts, distracting him from the matter of the uttermost importance. Sherlock needed to find a way to clear his head, to _focus_ , so that he wouldn't make a mistake. A mistake that might cost him everything –his freedom, his reputation, his… future.

He got back to the kitchen and found Mycroft sitting in the exact same spot he'd occupied before.

"Where's Victoria?" he asked and his brother raised eyebrows with amusement.

"Oh, your _girlfriend_ is with our beloved mother. Bonding time, I believe she called it."

Sherlock sat down in his chair, not answering Mycroft's obvious attempt to ruse him. Victoria's absence, no matter how unsettling, was a good thing. He could at least focus, without having to look at her, or having to constantly inhale her scent. Yes, it was undoubtedly a fortunate event.

* * *

Victoria couldn't help, but to feel _awkward_. After all, how else was she supposed to feel, when she had to pretend to be Sherlock's girlfriend, in front of his mother? The detective tried very hard not to blush a crimson shade, when the memory of their conversation popped into her head, blurring her vision and making all of her muscles rigid with tension.

She had no doubts now. Sherlock Holmes had wanted to kiss her, and she was stupid enough to back out. Stupid, or maybe incredibly smart, she couldn't really tell. Her heart wanted nothing else, but to just close the distance between them, wrap her hands around his neck and pull him in for a heated, passionate kiss –one that would haunt her dreams and _possibly_ even his.

She did nothing of the sort, because her mind, on the other hand, kept telling her how stupid it would be. Reckless, ridiculous and completely bonkers. Even with the slow, almost invisible change in their relationship's dynamics, Victoria wasn't crazy enough to think that maybe they could stand a chance, as a _couple_. It was clear as day that Sherlock Holmes had no idea what was happening, and she wasn't about to become a bloody guinea pig for him to play with. Because she would be the heartbroken one, when he'd finally decided that those _feelings_ he started to develop were nothing more, but a vile distraction. She didn't want to be a distraction. She wanted…

Oh, God. What she wanted, was to laugh hysterically. It simply wasn't possible to _have him_ and stay away at the same time. And yet, there she was, staring at the wall in front of her with an empty stare, thinking that maybe –just maybe- a miracle would happen and that it would change things. Each day brought her closer to the inevitable –the moment, when she would have to choose between letting him hurt her over and over, and between running away. Each day made her realise that it might already be too late, that she was too far gone; yet, she still did nothing. Because all it took was his _one look_ to make her forget how to breathe.

"You're not really Sherlock's girlfriend, are you?" Mrs Holmes said, snapping her out of the daze, and Victoria looked at her in shock.

The woman was smiling gently, which was certainly a weird expression on someone related to Sherlock. She clearly wasn't mad, or even disappointed in the light of the events, making the detective even more surprised.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly and the woman's smile grew wider.

"Oh, I'm his _mother_ , sweetheart. He probably thinks that he can lie to everyone and get away with it, but I can always tell, when he's not being honest."

Victoria sent her an apologetic glance and scratched her head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have played along… I yelled at him for lying to you, if that makes it any better."

"I'm not mad, sweetie." Sherlock's mother stated and sat down across the table. "In fact, you may not be his girlfriend, but I still know that he cares about you. More than I thought was possible."

Radcliffe looked away and bit her lip. How was she supposed to answer such a statement? The last thing she needed was to hear how important she was to Sherlock, or how impossible his feelings for her seemed. In fact, she didn't even want to think about said feelings. Or her own, for that matter.

"Our relations are… well, _complicated_ ," Victoria said and the woman laughed gently.

"Yes, Sherlock's incapable of having different types of relations, my dear. But I've never seen him _smitten_ with a girl before."

"He's not _smitten_ ," she protested at once, scowling slightly. It was such a terrible word to describe this man's feelings, if he really had them. He had probably spent hours, trying to analyse and dissect them, but they still refused to start to make sense to him –she was sure of it. All it took to know that Sherlock Holmes felt incredibly confused, was one look into those mesmerising eyes of his.

 _Mesmerising_. Wow. She really started to lose her shit, didn't she?

"Oh, but he is!" Sherlock's mother chirped happily, and Victoria sighed deeply. "He looks at you the same way anyone else looks at their loved ones!"

No. He looked at her like she was a fucking miracle. An incredible case to study. A riddle to solve. Victoria had seen that stare on more than one occasion, and no matter how attractive it seemed, she didn't want to be _just that_. She wasn't a project that could either go well, or terribly wrong. Her heart wasn't made of a diamond and it could easily break into a thousand pieces. She couldn't just _give_ it to him. He couldn't know that she might have already done it.

"He's no good for me," Victoria whispered and forced herself to look at the woman, whose smile faltered slightly. "It has nothing to do with me not liking him. Your son… Your son is a great man, probably better than he realises. I accept him, with all of his flaws, but loving him…" Her voice broke and she blushed, as even thinking about such a possibility made it hard to breathe. "Loving him would be painful. Painful and…"

"Worth it," the woman interrupted and gently covered Victoria's palm with her own. "It might take a lot of effort, a lot of tears and pain, but once he understands what it means to love someone, he'll never forget."

"He's _Sherlock_. I'm pretty sure he'd still choose to do whatever pleases him, whatever excites him. He'll constantly seek a way to get high, without actually doing drugs. He believes that love is a chemical _defect_."

"He _believed_. I don't think he does any longer. Yes, he tries to cling to that concept, but such a brilliant mind as his must have come to the conclusion that you mean something to him."

"But he doesn't _know_ what I mean. Or what his feelings mean," Victoria sighed tiredly and looked up towards the ceiling. "And I can't really be his guinea pig, Mrs Holmes. Because it would hurt, and I cannot… I…"

Her heart was beating fast and her breath became quite erratic, but she couldn't really help it. Thinking about the possibility that she could just let herself fall, only for Sherlock to change his mind, or to decide that he despises those feelings… It made her scared. No, scratch that. Victoria was terrified.

Above all, she was also crazy. Absolutely mad. Olivia's words rang through her head, reminding her that she actually _chose_ Sherlock. Subconsciously, against her will. But it still happened. He was exactly what she wanted, and at the same time, he was the only person she could never allow herself to have. A decision to pursue a relationship with him would mean agreeing to being hurt over, and over. Victoria fucking _knew it_. So what on Earth had driven her to the exact point she was in right now?

Shit. She really needed to just distance herself, if she didn't want her feelings to progress. She couldn't just sit here, listening to his mother trying to convince her that loving him would actually be fantastic. Her mind _had to_ win this battle, and every battle to come, because Victoria couldn't just let herself fall apart, after she'd spent years trying to mend her wounds. She had to run, while she still could. She had to run, even if she couldn't.

"My dear…" Mrs Holmes' voice snapped her out of her thoughts yet again, but this time, Victoria couldn't force herself to look the women in the eye. "Are you really this sure that being _without_ Sherlock wouldn't hurt?"

The detective glanced up and let out a shaky breath, when Sherlock's mother offered her a gentle, affectionate smile. Who was she kidding… Forgetting someone, who managed to turn her world upside down, making her unable to do what was best for her, wouldn't be easy. She could already imagine all the lonely nights, when she would just lie in her bed, thinking about his deep voice, about the fire in his eyes, whenever an interesting case presented itself… She would think about his long fingers, sliding up and down the strings of the violin, playing music that spoke to her soul. And she would suffer from her own stupidity and longing.

"No. No, I'm not sure," she whispered. "I just… I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know what to do, or what I want. What I _should_ want. My thoughts stopped making sense a long time ago."

"You know… I understand your dilemma. It's not an easy thing to make sacrifices, even in the name of love. Especially if you have to sacrifice _yourself_." The woman smiled. "Not many people know that, but I was a brilliant mathematician." Victoria looked at her with surprise and Mrs Holmes chuckled lightly. "Yes, I really was. But then I met my husband, and I had to face the choice between sacrificing my career for the family, or forego my –possibly- only chance at true love. It's pretty obvious what I've chosen, huh?"

Victoria frowned upon hearing the woman's words. She'd said them, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. But it wasn't. Actually, the detective was sure that most people would have done such a thing. They wouldn't simply quit using their abilities to their full potential, no matter what. Hell, Sherlock would probably laugh at the mere idea, but, on the other hand, Victoria didn't think that it was possible for him to just quit being… well, himself.

What Mrs Holmes had done was, in many ways, quite similar to the choice hanging over her head. She could either decide to back out for her sanity's safety, accepting the possibility that Sherlock might have been _it_ , and that she would never feel something quite as thrilling. She could also take a risk –a huge one at that- in hope that it would make her happy in the end. That maybe… maybe she could also be _it_ for Holmes.

"How did you know what to do?" Victoria asked quietly and the woman sighed.

"I could always go back to being a mathematician, if things didn't turn out the way I wanted. I would never be able to bring back that one chance I've wasted."

"That doesn't really help me…"

"Because you're looking at it the wrong way, dear," Mrs Holmes said and shook her head. "You expect Sherlock to hurt you, and he probably will. But you also don't think that you're strong enough to pick yourself up. That's where you're wrong."

"It took me years to heal my wounds, Mrs Holmes," Victoria protested, but the woman only smiled again.

"Which only proves that you have the strength to do it. I bet that your trauma was much, much worse, than a simple heartbreak." She looked away, not wanting to talk about her childhood, but she could still see that Mrs Holmes nodded her head with understanding. "You're young and quite beautiful, my dear. When are you intending to start living your life? There's always going to be a possibility that someone will hurt you, whether it's Sherlock, or someone perfectly… _normal_. But from what I see, you don't want perfectly normal, and that's the only difference."

Victoria fell silent for a moment, considering the woman's words, but finally she forced herself to look at her.

"So you think I should just stop being afraid? That I should give him a chance?"

"I think you need to do what's best for you. I just want you to think about what's really best. Because it might not be so obvious, sweetheart." Mrs Holmes looked at the clock and got up. She glanced out of the window and frowned. "Are they smoking?! I will not have that in _my house_!" She said, completely outraged and then patted Victoria on the shoulder. "Excuse me, dear!"

Victoria remained seated for a moment, feeling the weight of the woman's words settle upon her shoulders. There was no denying that they made a lot of sense, but they only caused mayhem in the detective's thoughts. Now, her mind, which was so hell bent on running away, didn't know what to do anymore. Her heart started to win, and it made her even more scared than before.

A part of her - a very small, tiny part – started to believe that maybe pursuing a relationship with Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be a good idea. She started to _hope_ , even if it went against her better judgement. And once she'd done that… It wasn't so easy to simply go back.

* * *

Sherlock walked into the room and found John desperately trying to wake up Mary. Obviously, he didn't have to worry about his wife. All of this effort would have been incredibly pointless, if Wiggins had just killed Mrs Watson.

"Don't drink Mary's tea," he said and John looked at him immediately, but Sherlock couldn't care less. He simply turned around and grabbed his scarf, tying it around the neck. "Oh, or the punch."

He needed to check if everyone was breathing, before they left. His father seemed alive, so he moved on quickly, heading into the kitchen. His mother was fast asleep too, and the sight of his brother slumped on a dining chair and his head lying on top of the kitchen table was incredibly satisfying.

"Sherlock? Did you just drug my pregnant wife?" John asked, walking into the room.

"Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on her," Bill said and then glanced at Sherlock. "And the detective too."

Holmes stopped and looked around the room. Victoria. She wasn't here. He couldn't leave the house, until he had the certainty that she was safe and sound.

"Yes, Bill will monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job," he muttered and ventured into the least remaining room, only to find the detective with her head lying on top of the table, much like Mycroft's. He walked up to her and checked her breathing, but he couldn't move away.

"What the hell have you done?" John joined him near the table, but Sherlock didn't answer.

His gaze was fixated upon Victoria's peaceful face. She looked younger now, innocent almost. Her lips parted slightly, which seemed to only draw his attention to them. Should he… No. No, he shouldn't. It didn't seem appropriate to kiss her now that she was unconscious. Sherlock raised his hand, unable to stop himself, and caressed her cheek, surprised at how smooth her skin felt. A frown appeared on his forehead, as he found himself at loss for words. Why did he do that? He had read something about expressing affection in such a way, but it seemed quite pointless to express affection to someone, who was… incapacitated.

"Sherlock?"

He blinked and lowered his hand, looking at John, who seemed completely baffled by this entire situation.

"A deal with the devil."

John walked out of the room, muttering something to himself, while Sherlock turned his attention to Victoria one more time. Before he could analyse his unusual need to touch her, he lowered himself and wrapped his arms around her figure. He carried her out of the room, passing John, who stopped abruptly and looked at him with his mouth open.

"Sherlock… please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind."

Holmes walked into the living room and gently lowered Victoria onto the couch, not daring to look at her any longer. He had a demanding task ahead of him. He couldn't just keep distracting himself.

"I'd rather keep you guessing," he addressed John and smiled, when the sound of a helicopter started to approach the house. "Ah, there's out lift."

Sherlock had no intentions of waiting for John, as he went back into the kitchen and snatched Mycroft's laptop. He put on his gloves and exited the house, followed by Doctor Watson, who still seemed pretty lost in this entire situation.

"Coming?" Sherlock asked and John frowned.

" _Where?_ "

"Do you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yes, of _course_ I do."

"Good, because this is going to be _incredibly_ dangerous. One false move, and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

"But it's _Christmas!_ " John protested, and Sherlock felt the rush of adrenaline course through his body.

"I feel the same." He smiled and looked at the man beside him, reasling that he had misinterpreted his words. "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

" _Why_ would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner?"

"Is it in your coat?"

"Yes."

"Off we go, then," Sherlock answered and started to move towards the helicopter.

"Where are we going?!"

"Appledore."


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: I need to stop apologising for not updating this story for such a long time, because I clearly _cannot_ do better at the moment. But I am truly sorry, because it kills me. **

**I'm not going to answer every single one of your reviews this time. Thank you so much for your support, and - please - know that I appreciate the time you spent writing those comments! I am so, so grateful!**

 **I don't want to take more of your time, but let me just say that this chapter is... well, important. And that scene at the end... it inspired this entire story and I had it written for a very long time. I honestly want to cry that it's finally here.**

 **Without further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

"I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive."

Sherlock couldn't do anything to stop his racing heart, but he certainly made sure not to show his anxiousness. His face remained impassive, even if the man sitting on the sofa caused his stomach to turn violently. Despite the ill feeling, he forced himself to move and sit down right beside him.

He sighed contently, feeling the softness of the leather. He put Mycroft's laptop between Magnussen and himself, and then crossed his legs, as though he didn't feel any discomfort at all. Showing weakness to someone as dangerous was a truly horrible idea. Sherlock looked across the room, following Magnussen's gaze, only to see a huge screen and a very disturbing video of John, almost burnt to death, projected onto it.

"Oh. It _was_ you," he said calmly, while John turned back and walked up to the screen angrily.

"Yes, of course," Magnussen replied. "Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes."

"Mm," Sherlock murmured, although he knew that the man sitting right beside him had no troubles finding it anyway.

John was, after all, a fairly obvious choice. Even without Mycroft's mistake that had endangered Victoria, Magnussen would still have _plenty_ of ways to blackmail Sherlock into doing whatever he wanted him to.

"The drugs thing, I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?"

Of course, he wouldn't. People didn't know about his addiction, but they still considered him a _freak_. Not that he ever cared about that either. He simply shrugged, inaudibly confirming Charles' theory, but he couldn't be bothered to do anything else; not until Magnussen had finished talking.

"But look how you care about John Watson. Your damsel in distress."

"You put me in a fire... for leverage?" John asked, walking closer to the man. Sherlock watched as Magnussen put his glass on the table and stood up.

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Doctor Watson. I had people standing by. I'm not a murderer... unlike your wife."

Sherlock could see John's anger, but it wasn't nearly enough to make him _snap_. Still, Magnussen must have known that as well, which only meant that his ministrations to distract Dr Watson weren't over.

"Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson."

The tall man reached the wall and put his finger at the side of the projected footage. He slid his finger across the glass, while the footage disappeared.

"For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well... apart from me."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from smiling mockingly. Yes, undoubtedly, his brother had spent countless minutes, trying to plant that same thought in many, many minds. People feared his brother, often failing to notice his obvious weaknesses and blatant _stupidity_ , which sometimes found its way to the surface of his supposedly brilliant mind. He would have been really satisfied hearing Magnussen's words. Fortunately, he was still lying on the kitchen table, safely incapacitated.

"Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock." Magnussen's voice was calm, but Holmes' smile faltered completely, as he could still hear a tone he didn't like.

 _Something_ was wrong, he realised cautiously and tensed slightly.

"And Sherlock's pressure point is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson's wife… I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, when Magnussen extended his hand towards him. He was about to shove the laptop in his direction, but then the man lowered his hand and smiled coldly.

"At least, that's what I thought would be happening today. It turns out, though, that Sherlock Holmes has more than _one_ valuable pressure points. I even dare to say that the other one is almost… almost too valuable to waste it on that _meaningless_ laptop."

Sherlock froze, when his mind analysed Magnussen's words. Ah… So he wasn't just about let Victoria off the hook. No, he planned to use her against him, but to what extent? After all, there wasn't much more that he could offer someone with such power and resources as Magnussen. He clearly didn't need someone to do the _thinking_ for him, nor did he need a consulting detective. And since he already _owned_ Mycroft, what more could he possibly want?

That question troubled his mind for quite some time. Because Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to think that such a vile person as Magnussen, wouldn't use every single weakness against him. And Victoria, even if it pained him to admit it, could be considered as such. He had known that all along, after all, even before his ridiculous _sentiment_ started to cloud his mind.

Sherlock rarely resorted to methods, which efficiency could only be described as… questionable. He had the ability to analyse everything and to calculate the outcome of his own actions, leaving no room for error. But when it came to a situation of such delicacy and… mystery, at least to him, he found himself unable to create a solid solution to his problems. He had to _bet_ , even though he hated doing that.

"You don't own Mycroft just _yet_ ," Sherlock said calmly and tapped the laptop with his fingers. "It's password protected, and you won't get that password, unless you offer me something in exchange. Something, meaning any material in your possession, pertaining to the women I know as Mary Watson and Victoria Radcliffe."

Magnussen smiled, clearly amused with Sherlock's demand.

"Oh, Mrs Watson… She's bad, that one. So many dead people… You should see what I've seen," he said and looked at John, who clenched his fists.

"I don't need to see it."

"You might enjoy it, though." Before Sherlock could say something, Magnussen laughed shortly. "Oh, but when it comes to your _lovely_ detective. Things aren't that simple, are they, Sherlock?"

Holmes didn't answer, as he tried not to show how disgusted he felt upon hearing Magnussen's tone.

"Her safety is… well, it doesn't depend on some classified information. If I were to guarantee it, I would have to resort to methods that I truly condemn. After all, her father is alive – and quite well, I may add."

Sherlock looked at John, who began blinking, unable to understand any of it. Holmes, however, _did_ understand and he had to fight really hard to stay calm. Magnussen _knew_ everything about Victoria, and apparently he had even gone to such lengths as to find her father – the one man that could ruin her entire life.

"So many possibilities with that one… If I decided to ruin your little _pet_ , I wouldn't even know where to start, Sherlock!" Magnussen said and smiled, shaking his head. "You can't possibly think that a single laptop would be enough to buy her safety?"

Oh, but he didn't think that. He could have made a deal with the devil, but he certainly didn't lose his own mind in the process. Hoping that Charles Augustus Magnussen would prove himself to be a _better man_ didn't even cross Sherlock's mind - quite the opposite, in fact. He was ready to bargain even his own life away, if it meant that both Mary and Victoria would be saved. And he would do that –but not before he had made sure that selling his own life would be a better choice, than simply taking Magnussen's and burning Appledore to the ground.

"You can't possibly think that I would agree to _anything_ without gaining the absolute certainty that you are in possession of the resources we've discussed," he said nonchalantly and Magnussen smiled.

"Oh, you have to mean the secret vaults. Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary. _And_ on Victoria."

The businessman let out a breathy laugh and scratched his head, as though he was truly disappointed. Sherlock didn't like the sound of it, but he couldn't exactly pinpoint the source of Magnussen's behaviour.

"You know, I honestly expected something good." The man said and patted the laptop lightly.

Is that what he meant? He didn't think that the information encrypted on Mycroft's hard drive were a _good bargain_?

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop..."

"... include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr and Mrs Psychopath. And where you could _explore_ your relationship with lovely Mrs Victoria. Oh, such a beauty, isn't she?"

Sherlock dismissed the last part of his speech, only to focus on his previous words. Yes, his plan leaned heavily on the GPS locator and Mycroft searching the Appledore's vaults, but he would have to be a complete and uttermost idiot to believe that everything would proceed according to plan. After all, he had come up with such a solution, when he still thought that Victoria was out of Magnussen's reach. And even if he didn't expect everything to run smoothly, he still hoped that he would have enough time to see the vaults and gain the certainty that both women could be saved.

"Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very, very proud big brother."

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it." Sherlock carefully observed, but Magnussen only smiled, giving him the certainty that he had _missed_ something.

"Then why am I smiling?"

Indeed, why was he? Sherlock couldn't find the right answer and it made him _angry_. Magnussen knew something he clearly didn't, which wasn't an ideal situation. Improvisation could have been Sherlock's forte, but it worked only under one condition – that he knew _everything_.

"Ask me." Magnussen seemed awfully pleased with himself, but Sherlock didn't want to give in to the temptation. John, on the other hand, was an entirely different case.

"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock's friend asked, and Magnussen looked down for a moment.

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear."

The force of his gaze struck Sherlock like a lightning, as he began to realise that the situation had changed abruptly. He no longer had a _leverage_ , with or without Mycroft's certain arrival.

 _East Wind is coming_.

Magnussen stood up slowly, while Sherlock tried to force his mind into coming up with a miraculous solution. The silence that had overtaken his thoughts was almost scary.

"Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

The man left the room through the open glass doors. Sherlock and John followed, although reluctantly. Watson must have realised that such a situation had never occurred. Sherlock Holmes couldn't simply be _bested_ , nor defeated; yet as he looked at his friend's face, he must have noticed that the consulting detective didn't feel like a _winner_. An empty expression could have had numerous meanings, and the one that Sherlock chose to wear right now, wasn't a positive one.

They stopped in front of the wooden doors. Magnussen put his hand on the handle and said:

"The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all."

The room was bright –so bright that Sherlock felt the urge to squint. He didn't, though, as a realisation hit him. There was _nothing_ there, except for a single chair. No files, no bookshelves, no drawers… _nothing_. Magnussen went inside and slowly turned around, facing them.

"Okay – so where are the vaults, then?" John asked and Sherlock flinched visibly.

His mind worked relentlessly, trying to figure out another explanation for all this, except for that _obvious_ one that would make Sherlock look like a sodden fool. Or maybe he simply was just that? Maybe he truly didn't deserve to call himself a _genius_ if something so logical escaped his attention.

"Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building." Magnussen looked at them and then sat down, slowly, like he was trying to saviour the expression on Sherlock's face. It wasn't _blank_ anymore. It was filled with fear and defeat, because that's what Holmes had felt.

He was wrong. How… How could it be? How…

"They're all in here." The man said, confusing John even more. Sherlock wanted to yell the answer to him, but he couldn't. He couldn't move, think, or breathe, as a matter of fact. "The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock?"

Holmes swallowed and blinked. The answer to that question was fairly obvious, as he had spent so much time _bragging_ about his excellent memory and his ability to store all the information.

So obvious… So logical… How could he have missed it?!

"How to store information so you never forget it – by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes… and down I go to my vaults," Magnussen continued, walking them through the process of picturing the mind palace. A process that sounded incredibly familiar, at least to Sherlock.

"I can go anywhere inside my vaults... my memories. I'll look at the files on Mrs Watson. This is one of my favourites. Oh, it's so exciting. All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit ... freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she is so wicked. I can really see why you like her." Magnussen didn't stop gesturing for a moment, and Sherlock had a pretty good idea of what he was doing.

Searching through the files, reading them, like he was actually holding them in his hands. Sherlock had done so himself on so many occasions. He had spent countless _hours_ organising his own space, his own palace, even if his methods had been more frantic. How could he…

"And there's the file for Ms Radcliffe… Have you ever seen the photos of that crime scene? Of that boy, butchered by his own father?" Magnussen asked and shook his head. "So much blood… Did you know that Victoria wore a white dress that day? A white dress that must have become red in a blink of an eye…"

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying not to think about the words coming out of Magnussen's mouth, but he simply couldn't. His heart thumped against his rib cage, causing him pain, while his blood rushed through his veins almost threatening to rip them apart. He was genuinely scared and that feeling would undoubtedly become one of his worst memories.

Sherlock wasn't afraid for himself, although their fate started to become quite clear. He feared for Victoria's future, as he would no longer be able to protect her from _anything_. Magnussen could use all those information to blackmail her, to ruin her entire life and he would do that for one, simple reason – it was all Mycroft's fault that he had found out about her involvement. And Sherlock's brother, although he tried to appear heartless, would not allow her to suffer from his own mistake. As long as he continued to dance to Magnussen's tune, she would be safe. The thing about Mycroft, though, was that he never responded well to threats. How long until he would decide to sacrifice Victoria? How long until…

"You see?" Magnussen asked, forcing Sherlock to postpone his grim thoughts for a moment.

John cleared his throat and said:

"So there are no documents. You don't actually have anything here."

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it, but mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand," John stated, to Magnussen's amusement.

"You should have that on a T-shirt."

"You just remember it all?"

"It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning." The man looked at Sherlock, and as much as Holmes hated the idea, he was very right.

The consulting detective lived by that same rule, after all.

"But if you just know it, then you don't have proof." John said and Sherlock fought the urge to sigh.

It wasn't the best of times to act foolish, but John still couldn't grasp the meaning of what was about to go down. Maybe he just didn't want to grasp it? Maybe he hoped that Sherlock would figure a way out of all this?

"Proof? What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it – I just have to print it," Magnussen scoffed and Holmes lowered his gaze.

All it took to ruin someone –just one, single article in the paper. Victoria's career would end, before it even had a chance to fully begin. Mary would be imprisoned, and her unborn child… Her unborn child would grow to know its mother as a killer, a psychopath.

All because of his mistake. Suddenly, he couldn't even hear Magnussen anymore. He couldn't see anything, except for this irritating brightness that drowned the entire room. Sherlock could sense that John was now looking at him, pestering him about something, but nothing mattered.

He was defeated by his own stupidity. He was bested like a child, even though he had managed to take on even Jim Moriarty himself. So why did he fail to see something as obvious as this? Out of all the scenarios that surged through his head, this one… This one was the most logical and probable one, but it hadn't even reached the surface of his consciousness up to this point. But it was already too late.

Sherlock closed his eyes and forced himself to move, catching up to his best friend and the man that managed to outsmart him.

"You just know things. How does that work?" John asked, when Holmes had finally appeared outside.

"I just love your little soldier face. I'd like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute." Magnussen ignored John's question and stared at him with a sly smile.

Sherlock knew that it was nothing more, but a blatant abuse of power, and he couldn't even force himself to try to fight it. His mind focused on different things, like making sure that there was absolutely nothing that could be done to save them.

"Come on. For Mary. Bring me your face." John glanced at Sherlock, and the consulting detective couldn't do anything, except for offering him a short nod.

It was _humiliating._ There was no doubt about it, and it made him sick to realise that the only thing he could have done, was to watch Magnussen torment his best friend, just because he _could_.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out," the businessman requested and John cleared his throat. "Please?" Watson did what was asked of him, to Magnussen's amusement. "Now, can I flick it? Can I flick your face?"

Sherlock wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his mouth. He was running out of time. He needed to _bloody_ do something.

"I just love doing this! I could do it all day."

Holmes lowered his gaze, trying to erase that sight from the surface of his mind, pushing it away as far as he could. _Think, think, think_ …

"It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed," Magnussen said and his words reached Sherlock's ears, sparkling something inside his mind, although it was too soon to tell _what_ exactly. "I know where to find people who hate her. I know where they live; I know their phone numbers. All in my Mind Palace – all of it."

 _His_ Mind Palace. His and _only_ his, Sherlock realised as he stared at Magnussen intently. His heart began to race once more, when a solution presented itself out of nowhere, just like it always did.

"I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down – and I will unless you let me flick your face. This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries… just because I know."

Sherlock bared his teeth, listening to that _madman,_ even though he wanted nothing else, than to kill him right there, on the spot. He needed to find a better time, though. He needed to make sure that John wouldn't be the one to go down for the crime he didn't commit. Mycroft would have no troubles sacrificing Dr Watson in order to save his little brother. Sherlock still could be useful to the Kingdom.

"Can I do your eye now? See if you can keep it open, hmm? Come on. For Mary. Keep it open."

"Sherlock?" John asked, with almost a begging tone to his voice.

"Let him. I'm sorry," Holmes answered quietly and let out a shaky sigh. "Just… let him"

Sherlock didn't want to see the expression on John's face, but he did. And he couldn't help, but to wonder if Victoria would look at him with the same pain in her eyes.

No, he realised. She would have seen through Magnussen even before he had. She would have known that Sherlock was left without a different choice, and it would undoubtedly make her furious, but she'd still stand by his side and go down with him. Because she was herself, always and forever, no matter how stupid it was. He really wished that he could turn back time and just… just kiss her. Just to know what it felt like. Just to have _something_ to keep him sane.

"Come on. Eye open." Magnussen demanded with amusement, while John struggled to do what he was told. "It's difficult, isn't it? Janine managed it once. She makes the funniest noises."

Sherlock didn't even bother to glance up. He couldn't care less about Janine, when he was still with her. He certainly didn't care for her _now._

The sound of an approaching helicopter filled the air, while marksman surrounded the patio. Sherlock swallowed, when his face was hit by a ray of light so bright, that it instantly reminded him of the Appledore and his own defeat.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Stand away from that man." Mycroft's voice boomed from the helicopter and Magnussen looked at Sherlock.

"Here we go, Mr Holmes!" he said cheerfully and the consulting detective realised that the right time to introduce his new, completely mad plan, was now here.

"To clarify: Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there," he said over the roaring sound of the helicopter.

"They're not real. They never have been." Magnussen answered and Sherlock nodded, looking down.

He had all he needed. And it was a right thing to do. He had made a vow, the only one in his life. And if it wasn't enough, he also had to protect someone else, someone who managed to slither her way into his… _heart?_ Actually, she managed to slither her way into the very centre of his being – his _mind_.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away," Mycroft ordered once again and Magnussen took a couple of steps forward.

"It's fine! They're harmless!" he said with a smile, while John turned towards Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what do we do?" he asked to Magnussen's amusement.

"Nothing! There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them! Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock knew that it probably wasn't the best time to smile, but he still wanted to do it. Because even if he had lost, Magnussen was still _wrong_ in the end.

"Oh, do your research," he scoffed and walked up to John to steal his gun. Then, he stepped away and took a step towards Magnussen. "I'm not a hero… I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!"

A sound of a fired bullet rippled through the air, and soon, Magnussen fell down. Sherlock dropped the gun immediately and raised his hands. His stomach clenched painfully, but he still couldn't help, but to feel relieved. Nothing mattered. Not the blood on his hand, not the bile in his throat… Nothing, except for the silence that enveloped his mind for the first time, since he'd arrived at the Appledore.

Mary and Victoria were safe. One way, or another, he had achieved what he came here for.

"Get away from me, John! Stay well back!" he ordered, while John cried out desperately.

"Stand fire!" Mycroft yelled. "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!"

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock," John whined and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from glancing at him.

"Give my love to Mary. Tell her she's safe now. And…" he stopped himself, when Victoria's blue eyes appeared in his mind, making his own eyes sting. "Tell Victoria that I'm sorry."

Because he truly was. He just couldn't describe for how many things.

* * *

It was surreal. Watching Sherlock Holmes say good bye to John Watson felt completely wrong, but there was no denying the fact that it happened. She wanted to scream in fury, she wanted to beat him into a bloody pulp, for acting so reckless, that it got him _exiled_ , but she couldn't. Because Sherlock had become a murderer to protect people he loved. And no matter how many laws had he broken by doing that, Victoria could never blame him for it. She desperately wanted to, because it would certainly make things much easier. Life with Sherlock Holmes couldn't be easy, though.

She promised herself that she wouldn't cry. Not one single tear was supposed to leave her eyes. Victoria Radcliffe was stronger than that. She could simply watch him board the plane, without no intentions of ever coming back home. She could let him go, as if he meant nothing to her. Those were the lies her mind kept repeating over and over, hoping that maybe she would believe them at some point. But the closer she was to watching him leave, the more impossible it seemed. Because her heart, her _stupid, stupid_ heart wouldn't stop bleeding.

Sherlock shook John's hand without hesitation, and her throat tightened at the sight. She kind of hoped that he would fail to notice her, standing a good dozen feet away, hiding in plain sight. Because she really didn't know if she could muster the strength to stare him calmly in the eye and pretend that she wasn't completely _broken_.

Hoping that Sherlock Holmes would fail to _notice_ something, was completely pointless. In a matter of seconds, his gaze found her silhouette, and she knew that he wasn't going to leave without talking to her. Few moments later, he stopped in front of her, at a relatively close distance, making her uncomfortable and tense.

"So…" he started and cleared out his throat. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Yeah, well… I didn't expect to _be_ here. God knows I hate goodbyes," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "But I just… I couldn't…"

She stopped herself and clenched her fists. It was so _fucking_ hard. All she wanted to do, was to hug him, kiss him and to stay with him, until she had no strength to hold on. But she couldn't do that. Sherlock Holmes was a _murderer,_ even if he had become one to save Mary. To save… _her_.

"You're angry with me."

"Of course I'm angry, Sherlock. You _murdered_ someone," she said, stating her thoughts out loud, although not all of them.

"But you're not angry because of that," Sherlock said and took a step closer, making it even harder for her to breathe. "You're angry because I'm leaving."

"You have to be punished, and there is no prison that could stop you from escaping. It would be a child's play for you, really," she answered and forced herself to look at his face. Sherlock's eyes scanned her expression cautiously, like he thought he could read her mind. "I just wish things could be different. Magnussen is dead, but in a way… He's still won."

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said in response. "Mary is safe now. _You_ are safe now."

Safe? She didn't want to be _safe_ , when it meant having to watch him board a plane to the middle of nowhere. How could she ever get back to her old life? There was no life without Sherlock Holmes, not for her. God, no matter how hard she tried to stop herself from loving him, she simply couldn't. Because he was still the man that managed to steal her heart, even if she had known all along that it was the worst idea of all. He was still the man that broke into her place, just to tell her about his riddles and to teach her how to dance. He was still a man that would rather kill someone, than let them threaten the people he cared about.

"Yeah. You're right," Victoria said, ignoring all of her thoughts, forced herself to smile. Sherlock knew that it had nothing to do with authenticity, but she didn't care. There was only so much she could bring herself to do. She couldn't just tell him the truth. Her feelings must have been clear to him, but as long as no words were said, she could still remember him as someone, who could have been hers, if only they had more time. That day couldn't be about rejection.

"Victoria…" Sherlock started and frowned, stopping himself, as if he didn't know what to say to her. She dared to gaze deep into his eyes, and her mouth flew open when she realised how close was he standing. She could see all the golden specks, hiding in his irises. The sun brought them out beautifully, and Victoria decided that she rather liked that sight.

Another realisation hit her out of the blue, and heat rose to her cheeks instantly.

"Your pupils are dilated," she whispered shakily, while Sherlock smiled.

"So are yours."

She wanted to protest, but no words left her mouth. All she could do, was to stare back at him, hoping that maybe her stupid heart was right, and it wasn't a mere coincidence. Maybe… Maybe he could _feel_ even an ounce of what she was feeling?

"Don't move," he asked and frowned, raising his hand to her face. She almost couldn't believe it, but his fingers rested against her cheek, slowly caressing her skin.

"Sherlock…" she whispered shakily, but when his finger traced her bottom lip, she inhaled sharply and fell silent.

"I'm high as a kite," he stated and frowned. "Maybe if I weren't, I would be able to stop myself, but... I can't go without… I… Please, don't move."

For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Her chest tightened, while she stood perfectly still, watching Sherlock's face get closer and closer, until she could feel his breath against her lips. She forgot that she was supposed to let her lids cover her eyes, as soon as his lips brushed against her own. It was probably the weirdest kiss she'd ever shared, but at the same time, it held more magic than any other. Because it was _Sherlock Holmes,_ who'd willingly decided to kiss her. Because his eyes were open as well, searching for her reaction, scanning the depth of emotions hidden inside her irises. And she found herself unable to do anything. Anything, except for kissing him back.

She'd never see him again. She'd have all the time in the world to get over her stupid feelings for the most unavailable man on the planet. She would forget that she had managed to break through his walls and that he had kissed her, just because he _wanted_. And when his eyes closed, hers remained open, in hopes that it would allow her to remember that one single moment forever. Because that moment was all she had. And it had to be enough.


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: I am terribly unsure of this chapter. I know that after the last one, the action was bound to move... _forward_. But I still feel kind of weird with what's to come. Let me know if it turned out okay! :) Onto the reviews now...**

 **artemis7448: Actually, I've thought about doing the Abominable Bride, and I think that I will -sometime in the future. I don't have time to write even regular chapters, so I want to focus on the story itself, but it's actually a great idea in general :)**

 **Purplestan:** **I know... I feel you :D**

 **Guest: Hmm... The chapter is probably going to be both :D **

**crzychigurl343 : I'm so, so happy you noticed that! I honestly think that this is the most important part about Sherlock falling in love... Your comment made me super happy! **

**KittyBear98 : We all are... muahahaha**

 **WanderingSoprano: I'm very happy to hear that! This was, by far, my favourite moment in the entire story :) I hope you'll like this one too!**

 **Ridethelightning26 : You're so welcome! It's been a pure joy to write this and step up my game as a writer... I'm so happy that you like it this much! Thank you!**

 **And now... ENJOY! :)**

* * *

"Are you ready to stop crying and tell me what happened? It's been a _day,_ " Olivia's voice reached her ears, but it did nothing to soothe her.

It was so, so annoying, to be completely unable to stop the tears that kept rolling down her cheeks. She felt almost as though she became an empty shell, which only function was to produce extreme amount of liquid.

"Fuck… What happened to the idea of _not_ falling for him, sweetheart?" Liv asked and sat down beside her. "What did he do this time?"

"He's gone," Victoria managed to say, and it instantly made her cry some more. Saying it out loud felt… horrible and heart-breaking.

She didn't want him to be gone. She wanted him to break into her apartment and to go through all of her things, trying to find _something_ he'd lost, like nothing had ever happened. Hell, he could even shoot up her walls, if only it had meant that he was _here_. With her.

If Victoria could take back that kiss, just to bring him home, she would have. Because then she would actually be able to stop clinging to that memory, as if it were her life boat. She could just let herself love him and hope that maybe they could share another kiss, or maybe even dozens of them. Anything would have been better, than sitting in Olivia's apartment and thinking that the man she had grown to love, against all odds, was _gone_.

"I'll never see him again," she whispered and covered her face, feeling dizzy as hell.

God… He was _gone_. What was she going to do?! How was she supposed to forget about someone so brilliant, so mesmerising, so… so _Sherlock?_

"Um…" Olivia muttered and scratched her head. "Are you sure about that?"

Of course she was. She'd seen him board that _fucking_ plane and she'd seen that same plane take off. Sherlock might have been crazy in a way, but even he wouldn't have come up with a plan to escape his awful fate, just because he sported some feelings for her. He claimed to be a high functioning sociopath, but he still grasped the concept of the right and wrong, even if he had chosen to ignore it once in a while. He must have known all along that shooting Charles Augustus Magnussen would be the end of his career, of his freedom. And he'd still done it. For Mary. For… for her.

"I'm sure, Liv. I wouldn't have turned into such a cry baby otherwise," Victoria said and forced herself to look at her friend.

What surprised her, was that Olivia stared at her with a very weird expression; definitely not the one she would have expected from someone, who was supposed to feel _sorry for her_.

"Then why is he texting you?"

Victoria blinked in utter confusion and then she glanced towards her phone. She couldn't care less for all of the text messages and phone calls she'd received since Sherlock's departure, because… Well, her heart was bleeding. And her eyes were constantly blurred with all those tears that kept flowing. It never occurred to her that he would still seek contact with her, after… After they've "said" their goodbyes. She couldn't even remember what happened after he'd taken a step back and turned around, but she was sure that he'd never mentioned wanting to keep in touch.

She jumped to her feet and reached for the phone, unlocking it impatiently. Her heart was beating so fast that she had to take a deep breath, just to make sure that it wouldn't burst from all the pent up anxiousness and hope she felt in that precise moment.

 _He texted her_. Victoria almost couldn't believe her own eyes, so she glanced at Olivia, who grinned like a Cheshire cat, clearly finding her friend's confusion incredibly funny. Radcliffe looked at the phone again, noticing how shaky her hands were. Did she want to open that message? Did she want to read it? What if… What if it was just his last text, just another proof of his exile?

Hell, she had to know. There was no other choice. She took a deep breath and opened the text.

 _We have a case. BS, ASAP. – SH_

"What on Earth…" she muttered and wiped away the rest of her tears. Maybe she was just hallucinating? "Liv… Could you please read it out loud?"

"It says… We have a case. BS, ASAP."

"Fuck me!" Victoria exclaimed and dropped down to the couch, suddenly unable to stand.

"I'd rather… not?" Liv said and giggled. "Why can't you just go to BS right now and get some?"

"Why isn't he gone… I've seen him board that plane… I…"

"Don't you think that it would be a better idea to just, you know… ask him?"

Victoria looked at her friend blankly and then she bit her lip, feeling her cheeks heat up slightly.

"He kissed me, Liv."

Olivia stopped smiling for a moment, only to squeal in delight a second later. Victoria realised that telling her friend might have been a terrible idea, but it was already too late. The girl sat down beside her and leaned forward with her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"How was it?!"

Victoria opened her mouth and closed it again. A frown appeared on her forehead, while she tried to come up with an eligible answer. The kiss… In a way, it was indescribable. It probably looked like any other, at least from a distance, but to her… To her it felt completely different. She vaguely remembered the taste of his lips and his scent, overwhelming her senses for a moment. Or the way his body brushed against her one or two times… All these things were _everything_ to her, but they wouldn't really matter to anyone else, who didn't understand Sherlock like she did.

The kiss wasn't heated, or passionate. Her body didn't ache from all the pent up arousal and excitement; instead it was frozen in shock, and completely overwhelmed with the mere fact that Sherlock not only touched her, but also decided to do something that plagued her dreams for quite some time now. He kissed her, and even though it wasn't the best kiss she'd ever had, it made her heart race and her blood boil.

"It was everything," she answered and blinked, trying to push aside her feelings that threatened to erupt once more.

"Then why the fuck are you still here?!" Olivia asked and Victoria looked down to her hands.

She probably should have rushed out of the apartment the second she'd seen that text, but… Well, nothing had ever been simple with Sherlock. Even though she felt ecstatic that he had kissed her, he probably wouldn't have done it, if he wasn't facing an exile, with no chances of ever going back home. That wasn't the case anymore. Something happened, and Sherlock was still in London, probably with no need to expand their relationship even more. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but the kiss changed _nothing_. For him, at least. He'd probably already forgotten about this whole ordeal and returned to his usual state of mind – one that was focused on crimes and mysteries, rather than such toxic things as feelings. But she? Victoria couldn't go back. She couldn't forget about the kiss, or him in general. Her tears and despair testified to that.

"It's not going to be the beginning of a wonderful relationship, or whatever you think could happen," Victoria said and sighed. "He'll probably say that it was just an experiment. Or a terrible outcome of drug abuse. He's not going to… to _love me_."

"So what?" Olivia said and shrugged. "We both know it's bullshit. You didn't force him to shove his tongue down your throat, did you?"

"He didn't… I… Liv, it's complicated, alright?"

"So make it uncomplicated. You're solving crimes for a living. Don't tell me you're going to act like a chicken, because of some moronic guy."

Olivia Lawson was one of a kind. Not only did she have a certain ability to dismiss most of her problems, like they were nothing. She also could do that for other people as well. She even dared to call Sherlock Holmes a _moron_ , making Victoria feel slightly better.

"I guess not."

"Then get up and show him what you've got."

"Yeah… I'll do that," Victoria answered and smiled weakly, ignoring the sudden flutter of her heart.

* * *

Baker Street was awfully quiet. Victoria kind of expected it to be bustling with sounds of heated conversations, or anything else that might have pointed to Sherlock's miraculous return. She entered the house, closing the door behind her and listening to the deafening silence. For a moment, she stood completely still, too afraid to move. Maybe it was just a very sick joke? Maybe someone wanted to prank her in the most cruel way?

Just like that, the sound of violin reached her ears, almost causing her mind to spin out of control. Sherlock was _here_. And he was playing that tune from a while back; from the day that she had first noticed how dangerous he could become, if she wasn't careful. Victoria swallowed hard and slowly moved forward, not even trying to conceal her presence. He probably already knew she was here, which is why he had chosen to play that particular song.

With a racing heart and sweating palms, she entered the apartment and her eyes immediately scanned the room for his lean silhouette. He was standing by the window, just as he always was, when he played his violin. Dressed in his usual suit, he looked exactly like she remembered. Victoria wanted to smack herself, because he really wasn't gone much longer than a day; yet her heart certainly felt as if the situation had been entirely different.

What was she supposed to do? Interrupt him? Or maybe stand in the doorway, waiting for him to speak and disperse all of her remaining doubts that he wasn't real.

"What took you so long?" he asked, relieving her of the impossible decision. "I've sent you a text hours ago."

"I was busy," she managed to say, and her tone immediately caught Sherlock's attention.

He spun around and furrowed his brows, when he noticed the redness of her eyes and the paleness of her skin.

"With what? Crying?"

And there it was… Sherlock Holmes and his genius deductions about the things he had no clue about. He seemed genuinely surprised to find her in such a pitiful state, like nothing had ever happened between them. Like he wasn't supposed to be halfway through Europe by now.

"First of all, Sherlock… What the fuck?" she asked, completely ignoring his question. "Why are you here? _How_ can it be possible?"

"Haven't you seen that ridiculous video?" he said and smirked. "Moriarty's face was displayed on every screen in the country. How did you manage to _miss it?"_

"I was busy," she repeated and clenched her fists, feeling the first drops of anger starting to boil in her stomach.

"You were _crying_. Why?"

Victoria closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She was angry, even though she wasn't supposed to. It wasn't like she expected Sherlock to act like a love struck fool, now that they had kissed. But how could he completely omit the importance of that moment?! He wasn't blind. He must have seen her feelings, and he clearly had some of his own. Otherwise he wouldn't have… He…

"I thought I'd never see you again, you fool," she whispered angrily and opened her eyes, only to see him walking up to her slowly. "I thought that you were going to be dead in six months and I certainly didn't think you'd text me from the exile."

"You do realise that no amount of tears could have brought me back, right?"

"Really? It seems to have worked like a charm," Victoria mocked and frowned. "You insensitive prick. People tend to _cry_ whenever they feel like they'd lost someone they cared about. _Of course I cried_."

Sherlock stopped in front of her and clasped hands behind his back. He obviously tried to make sense out of her words, which only made her angrier. She wasn't speaking fucking Chinese, and even if she were, he would still be able to understand it perfectly. Why couldn't he get it through his thick head that…

"I didn't want you to."

Her inner musings stopped at once, and her vision blurred again, when a new set of tears had found its way into her eyes. Victoria didn't really want to start crying again, but then she couldn't exactly help it. Not when he was so close that she could smell him. Not when she kept gazing at his lips, knowing that just hours ago they were touching her own. He was here and she was so incredibly relieved.

It still didn't answer any of the other questions circling her mind. Victoria still wanted to know why Mycroft had decided to bring his brother back from the exile, even before it had fully started. She still wanted to make sure that Sherlock wasn't just going to leave tomorrow, or the day after. But most of all, she just wanted to understand _why_ he had kissed her.

"Why?" she asked quietly and he smiled excitedly.

"Yes, that's a very good question. Moriarty has always proven himself smart, almost unbelievably so. But I certainly didn't expect him to foresee his death, or to plan something in case he hasn't made it." He sounded like a child that had been gifted with an earlier Christmas present. Victoria would probably roll her eyes and mock him, but she felt too anxious and nauseous to do it.

"I'm not talking about Moriarty, Sherlock," she stated calmly. "I want to know why did you kiss me?"

"Oh," he replied and tilted his head to the side. His mouth flew open for a moment, and then he closed it again. "Oooh."

Victoria sighed and covered her eyes, feeling utterly stupid. What was she thinking? That he would suddenly learn how to speak _emotions_? Or, even better, _the language of love?_ Hell, even she couldn't speak it most of the time. But she certainly wasn't daft enough to think that kissing someone can happen without any consequences.

She opened her eyes and brushed past him, moving towards her couch. She plopped down onto it and fixed her gaze at the ceiling, which looked as uninteresting as ever. It was still better than staring at Sherlock and his ridiculous, lost expression.

"I did, didn't I?" he muttered after a long moment of silence and she snorted mockingly. Anything else would probably make her cry again. "But what for?"

"You tell _me_ , Holmes," she hissed angrily and clenched her fists.

"You kissed me back," he said, ignoring her anger. He turned towards her immediately and pointed his finger at her. "Victoria Radcliffe, I believe you have feelings for me."

God, why was she here? Why was it happening? Victoria really didn't know what was worse. The fact that he had apparently already forgotten about their kiss, or the fact that he blatantly accused her of having feelings for him, without even stopping to think about it for a second.

"What a brilliant deduction. Well done," she said and shook her head. "I obviously do, otherwise I wouldn't put up with all your crap. But it was _you_ who kissed me. _Why?_ "

Sherlock stood still for a moment, looking straight at her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he furrowed his brows and said:

"I wanted to."

Victoria almost couldn't believe it. Sherlock Holmes had just admitted that kissing her wasn't just an act of pity, or something relatively stupid. Her heart skipped a beat, but she stopped herself from becoming ecstatic. He could still ruin everything, after all.

"You wanted to," she repeated cautiously and he blinked.

"That seems to be the case, yes."

"Since when do you _want to_ do such things?" she asked mockingly, and Sherlock's expression changed to a more thoughtful one.

It was so like Sherlock to think that he could find a logical explanation to something so unpredictable like _feelings_.

"A while. Although I cannot pinpoint the exact moment of that unexpected change, I presume it happened sometime after I've met you."

"You presume."

"Yes. Is your hearing impaired? Why do you feel the need to repeat everything I say?" he asked, clearly annoyed and Victoria couldn't stop herself from giggling.

"Let me explain… You've just admitted not only to kissing me, but also to kissing me, because you felt like it. You. Sherlock Holmes. The man who's considering himself married to his work," Victoria said and raised her eyebrows. "Do you see why am I surprised?"

Sherlock didn't answer, so the woman sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the knees. He was so bloody difficult. Infuriating even. Talking about feelings couldn't be easy, but talking about feelings with someone, who had only just began grasping the concept behind them was… _tiring_ ; yet she couldn't stop her heart from dancing happily in her chest.

She expected him to be in a complete denial. She even suspected that he would stand by some ridiculous theory that the kiss had been the outcome of his drug overuse and a temporary lack of judgement –anything that could mean he wasn't entirely responsible for it.

Victoria was wrong. Sherlock was far from denying anything –quite the opposite in fact. He seemed unable to fully understand the magnitude of that brief moment, but he certainly realised that it wasn't something meaningless.

"I'm still married to my work. And I certainly don't understand why, after all this time, my usually logical mind decided to focus on something else. _You_."

She forced herself to look at him, only to notice that exact same expression of fascination she had spotted upon his face a while ago. This time, he wasn't teaching her how to dance. He was looking at her, like she was the only interesting thing in the room.

Shivers ran up her spine, and she stood up. Sherlock moved, before she could take the first step, closing the distance between them. Victoria thought she had never seen him this hesitant and unsure of anything. For a moment she started to debate, whether she shouldn't simply let him be for a while, so he could _adjust_. But then, their relations had been tense for quite some time now. She might have tried to ignore the obvious signs of the forming attraction, because she still hoped that maybe there was hope for her and her reckless heart.

But there was no hope. Not when she was so far gone. Sherlock's mother made her realise that simple, undeniable fact and Victoria felt like she couldn't wait anymore. She wanted to _know,_ even if it was selfish. Even if it could lead to a broken heart. Nothing seemed worse than knowing that the man she loved was supposed to _die_. She couldn't simply forego the opportunity, could she?

"I never stood in the way of your work, did I?" she said and Holmes smiled crookedly.

"No, you've proved yourself much more useful, than Watson."

"But I'm a distraction."

"Yes."

"Then why haven't you got rid of me, like you usually do with distractions?" she asked and took a step closer.

Her stomach clenched almost to the point of pain, but she welcomed the sensation. It matched her racing heart, uneven breathing and chaos swirling around her mind. He was so, so close… All it would take for her to touch him, was to raise her hand slightly.

She didn't though. She stood still and waited for his response, as things could still take a rapid turn for the worse. Sherlock Holmes had never been particularly predictable, especially when it came to social interactions.

"Because I _didn't_ want to," he answered and frowned. "People often consider me to be a freak. Or an interesting scientific case. I'm used to it and I don't crave their admiration. Frankly, I believe them to be morons. Not you, though. Never you. You let me get away with things that most people would hate me for. Maybe that's why I've grown to tolerate you and then… And then even appreciate you."

"Sherlock…" Victoria said softly, but he ignored her completely. He seemed lost in thoughts, and unaware of the sudden change of her expression.

"You made me question the way I've perceived things. I thought it was impossible to do what I do, and allow myself to… to feel. After all, sentiment is what makes people act stupid, reckless and completely illogical. Sentiment _kills_ people," he said and rolled his eyes, while Victoria crossed her arms.

"Exile can do that to."

" _Sentiment_ led to the exile, Victoria," Sherlock answered and looked down for a moment. "But I would have made that mistake even without you and Mary. I failed to notice the obvious, which… well, apparently happens."

Victoria smiled and nodded her head.

"Yes, it does. And you're mostly unaware of it," she said, thinking about all those times when he misinterpreted her emotions or actions.

He probably should have realised that she had feelings for him _weeks_ ago. Maybe he even did –he just decided to ignore the most logical solution, because it hadn't crossed his mind.

"I filter most of the things I hear, or see. That's the way I work," Sherlock muttered and suddenly his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. "I tried to filter _you_ out of my mind. But I've realised that there are situations, when your presence in my palace is… _welcomed_. It allows me to see things from a different perspective. I believe that if I haven't kept you away from the Magnussen case, you would have figured it out before me."

"Why?"

"Because you don't just _observe_ , Victoria. You understand. And there is a great difference between those two things –a difference I haven't been aware of for a very long time. Until I've realised that your ability to understand is what makes you so special… to me."

Victoria didn't have to ask what he meant by that. It was clear as day that he wasn't talking about any of his cases. He was her superior in the matter of deduction, and there was no changing that. He meant that she was important to _him_ –not a consulting detective, but to Sherlock Holmes, a man like no other, but still a man nonetheless. Even if he didn't believe it, he was a being capable of feeling and _living_. She knew that. She just didn't think he could ever feel the same attraction that formed deep within her heart.

He looked at her again, and her breathing hitched slightly, when she was instantly reminded of that memorable moment at the airport. His eyes, even without the rays of sunshine, shone beautifully with that mix of colours that was beginning to look incredibly familiar.

"There is just something about the idea of having… _someone_ , who tolerates me and accepts me. Something that even I cannot resist. Which is why I've kissed you."

Victoria felt her cheeks warming up, as she fought the urge to avert her gaze. It sounded nothing like a normal, usual admittance of feelings, but she had never expected to hear something even remotely similar from Sherlock. Just as she had never expected to hear _this_. She wanted to cry, but at the same time, she wanted to laugh like a maniac, because of the relief she felt at the moment.

Maybe he didn't say he loved her. But he might as well have done it, because her heart drummed against her ribcage like crazy, and her hands shook visibly.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked, suddenly anxious, and Victoria snorted.

He probably noticed her state, and came to a terrible conclusion –just as was his habit.

"No. I just… I never expected that I might hear something like that from you," she said quietly and smiled weakly, while he blinked in confusion.

"Why? Isn't that what people usually do, when they have feelings for someone?"

"Sherlock, I honestly didn't think you'd ever have feelings for me. Or that I would be reckless enough to even consider the possibility of…"

"Of what?"

Victoria bit her bottom lip, feeling unsure of herself and quite stupid. Was she supposed to just blurt out _those words_? For fuck's sake, he didn't even tell her that he wanted to pursue a relationship with her. Or anything of romantic nature. She needed to keep her mouth shut. At least for now. Pushing her luck sounded like the worst thing she could have done, and Victoria did _not_ like the idea of scaring him away.

"Of developing feelings for you."

Sherlock frowned, as he kept looking at her, searching for signs of deception. To her surprise, he decided not to comment on her obvious lie, which was probably clear as a day to him. He was, after all, a walking lie detector.

"I've noticed that you seemed to be frightened by the idea. But something's changed."

"Yes," she replied and nodded slightly.

"What?"

"Your mother talked me out of it."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. Actually, he looked absolutely perplexed by the idea.

"In what universe is listening to my mother's advice a great idea?" he asked, forcing her to laugh.

"Would you prefer me to smack you in the face for kissing me?"

"Why would you smack me for doing something you _enjoyed_?"

"How can you be sure I enjoyed it?"

"Because I did." Her mouth flew open, while Sherlock stopped to breathe for a moment. "Oh. I really did, didn't I?"

He sounded like a crazy scientist that had just made a huge breakthrough. Victoria laughed again, when he noticed his expression full of wonder. And then, just like that, he frowned and looked at her again. His gaze flicked to her lips, forcing her to swallow hard, when the familiar tension returned to her body.

"But I was high."

"High as a kite," she muttered, remembering the phrase he'd used.

"I nearly OD'd, yes. But I'm not high anymore." He took a step closer. "Or at least I think I'm not. Hard to tell."

"Why?"

"Because my body seems to be very excited about the possibility of kissing you again."

Victoria forced herself to remain still, but it was bloody difficult. She couldn't help, but to feel that same excitement, when her stomach clenched tightly and shivers run down her spine, giving her the urge to fidget like an impatient child. God, she wanted so much more than just his kisses… She wanted _everything_. The thought that maybe, just maybe, he could give that to her after all, made her want to scream. She didn't though, because Sherlock's hand found its way to her face, caressing it gently.

"Your skin is very soft," he said. "Pleasant."

She raised her eyebrows, kind of amused by his comment and the somewhat childish fascination in his eyes. Her expression changed, when his thumb brushed against her lips, parting them slightly.

"And your hair smells nice."

"Are you going to kiss me, or what?" Victoria moaned impatiently, snapping Sherlock out his daze. His words only made the ache in her stomach worse, and she couldn't stop herself from fidgeting.

"I think so."

"Then get on with it. We can talk about my hair later."

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. One of his hands still rested on her face, but the other hung limply next to his body, so she grabbed it and placed it on her waist, surprising him slightly. Fortunately, Sherlock hadn't been completely daft, when it came to _such things_. Those ridiculous books must have mentioned something about being so close to another person, because he instantly pulled her in and closed his eyes, forcing her to do the same.

This time, she didn't feel the need to look at him and memorise the moment. All she wanted to do, was to focus on the gentle movement of his lips against her own and the way his palm caressed her skin, bringing her even closer. Victoria responded to his every movement, and she allowed him to simply _try_.

When he parted her lips and deepened the kiss, she couldn't stop herself from clutching his shirt and probably wrinkling it terribly. She didn't care though, and neither did Sherlock. His hand moved from her cheek to her hair, entangling itself in its waves and combing through its strands. Victoria really wanted that moment to just last forever, but she knew it wasn't possible. Especially, when someone's footsteps echoed in the stairway.

"Sherlock, I know you don't answer my calls, but Mary's…" John's voice rang throughout the air, as the door flew open. Victoria instantly pulled away, but it was already too late. "Oh my God!"

She wasn't supposed to blush like a five year old, but she could feel her cheeks warming up with embarrassment. Why? Why did he have to barge in _right now_ , just when things were getting interesting?! And why did she feel the need to be ashamed of being caught in a perfectly normal situation?

"You're doing it _again_?!" John yelled with his eyes so wide, that Victoria started to fear that his eyeballs would fall out.

"Don't be so melodramatic, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at the detective. "You must have seen two people kissing before. I suppose you can make a baby without it, but…"

"You're not going to make this about me! You two. Since when?!" Watson asked and pointed his fingers to Victoria, and then flicked it back to Holmes. "Why haven't you told me?!"

"Because we were _kissing,_ John," Sherlock answered and finally stepped away from Victoria, heading to the window one more time.

He picked up his violin and started to pull the strings chaotically, producing sounds that could hardly be described as music. Victoria sat down on the couch, still a bit dumbfounded by this whole situation. She fixed her gaze on Sherlock, trying not to think about his taste still lingering on her lips. Or about anything even remotely related to that blissful moment.

"Not now. I mean earlier!"

"Because I was too focused on Moriarty," Sherlock stated and Victoria snorted.

That was true, actually. He was focused to the point that he had even forgotten about that first kiss, or –at least- had shoved it deep into the depths of his mind palace, until Victoria had come and forced it back to the surface.

"And you?" John asked, turning to Victoria with a genuine hurt on his face. "I've kept your feelings a secret, and you haven't even told me that…"

Sherlock stopped pulling the strings and stiffened visibly, forcing Dr Watson to shut his mouth and send Victoria an apologetic smile. The detective looked at him with a grim expression, while Holmes turned around and started to stared at the woman.

"You knew?" he asked Watson, still not looking away from her.

"Um… Yeah, I did. I noticed… I mean."

" _You noticed_?" Sherlock snorted, rolling his eyes. "We both know that you're basically blind, when it comes to observing even the simplest and most striking details."

"The girl has cried her eyes out next to your hospital bed. I can be blind, but I'm not _deaf_ ," John spat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "So what, you're his girlfriend now?" he addressed Victoria.

She scowled visibly, while Holmes kept staring at her. He didn't expect such a reaction, because he frowned slightly.

"No, I'm not. I don't think that's the right term to describe our relations."

"But you're… you know, together?"

Victoria looked at Sherlock, who blinked a couple of times, only to stop blinking altogether. For a moment, the room was quiet, as no one knew what to say. John seemed baffled by the sudden silence, but after a moment, he must have realised that _relationships_ weren't exactly easy for Sherlock; better yet, he completely didn't understand them, nor did he see the need for them.

"I've analysed the situation and I've reached the conclusion that we don't have a different choice than to form a relationship, Victoria," Sherlock stated after few minutes. "There is a possibility of other men turning their attention to you, even if we both know that you've never really been interested in so-called dating. I don't think sharing you would ever feel satisfactory to me. And I really hate the idea of having to listen to my mother going on and on about treating you poorly."

Victoria opened her mouth and then she closed it again, unable to believe that those words had actually left Sherlock's mouth. Did he just… Did he…

Holy shit. He did. He had actually said that he wanted to be in a relationship with her. Well, he didn't exactly _want,_ but there could be only one conclusion.

"I refuse to call you my _girlfriend_ though," he almost spat, and Victoria couldn't stop the small smile that found its way onto her face.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she replied and he looked at her with a smile of his own.


	22. Chapter 21

**My exams are over, so you can probably expect more regular updates. Unless life surprises me again :D Anyways, I'm quite happy with how this chapter turned out and I sure hope you'll share that thought :D**

 **Also, thank you for all of your reviews and kind words! I'm ecstatic to know that the last chapter was good, at least in your opinion. I'd love to answer each and every one of those comments individually, but I'm so freaking tired that I honestly cannot muster the strength. I just want to give you another update, so you could enjoy some more of our newlyfound relationship! Love yall!**

* * *

Victoria arrived at Scotland Yard, only to leave as soon as Lestrade had spotted her.

"Another alley murder," he informed her right away and pointed to the exit.

Her brilliant mood disappeared immediately. She was about to examine another crime scene and find literally no clues. That freaking psycho was _good_ , no matter how terrible it sounded. He acted almost like a ghost, like someone, who could evaporate into thin air at will. All of Sherlock's cases should have taught her that every killer could be caught, but Victoria really didn't know what to do. Even the lead provided by Holmes left her with nothing. No one knew anything, no one heard anything.

"Lestrade? Don't you think it might be the right time to call Sherlock?" she asked quietly, her heart fluttering at the possibility of seeing him so early in the day.

A weak smile crossed her face, immediately catching the attention of the Detective Inspector.

"Isn't he… _away_?" Greg said, looking at her with suspicion, so Vic shook her head.

"Nope. Change of plans," she stated and shrugged, hoping that Lestrade wouldn't question her about that sudden change of her mood. Unfortunately, he was still a detective.

"Did you have something to do with that… _change of plans?_ "

Victoria rolled her eyes at the mere possibility of begging Mycroft not to send his brother away. If there was a chance that he could have changed his mind, she probably would have done so, but she wasn't stupid.

"Come on, Greg," she snorted and smiled. "Don't tell me you haven't seen that video."

"Right." The man nodded, but didn't stop looking at her intensely. "I'm sorry… Do you have feelings for him?"

Apparently, subtlety was out of fashion, she observed with amusement and sighed. Victoria didn't really fancy the idea of talking about her newly-formed… _relationship_ with Sherlock. What was she supposed to say anyway? _Hey, you know, we're sort of a thing, but he's not my boyfriend_? It sounded absolutely ridiculous. Besides, she couldn't even say that they were _in love_ , or that Sherlock had suddenly understood how this entire thing called _affection_ worked.

She was happy. Ecstatic even. But it still didn't mean that other people would understand her euphoric state.

"Um… It's complicated?" she said hesitantly, forcing Lestrade to snort.

"What isn't with that prick?" he answered and scratched his head. "Are you sure that… he's the right person?"

"Hell no, have you met the guy?" Victoria chuckled and shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I can't stop anything either. I've tried and…"

"… and you still fancy him," Lestrade ended and scowled. "I understand. Just be careful, alright? I need you at your best now that you're back."

"I still think you should call him. People are dying and I've already tried to solve the case. Didn't work very well."

Victoria sighed deeply and frowned. She had had enough of those freaking nightmares that kept returning to her at nights. Every dream was different in a way, but they all revolved around the same thing –a mysterious man with a syringe that kept wandering the city, killing innocent people and blending into the crowd perfectly. She could remember the overwhelming fear that he could follow her everywhere, without her ever realising who he was. And maybe those dreams weren't exactly frightening, but she always woke up drenched with sweat and shaking. There was something worse than fear. It was the knowledge that every moment could be her last, and she could do nothing about it.

"Fine. I'll call him. But no snogging at the crime scene, understood?" Lestrade said and then he scowled. "Although maybe then I could believe that he's human…"

"Trust me, no one will notice that _relationship_ of ours," she said and rolled her eyes.

She sincerely doubted that he would even remember about it, in the light of a new exciting riddle to solve. Maybe she should have been bothered by the thought, but she smiled instead, realising that if he started to act any different, he'd stop being himself. Victoria didn't want that to happen. She didn't need a perfect man. She just wanted him.

"Wait, does _Sherlock_ know about it?" Lestrade asked and sent her a grin.

"Oh, piss off."

* * *

"Do you have something for me?" Victoria said to Anderson, skipping the usual greeting.

From the looks of it, they were dealing with the exact same killer. The body bore no signs of struggle. Actually, the man looked quite peaceful, almost as if he was sleeping. If it wasn't for the unhealthy, greyish hue of his skin and the bruises starting to form around his lips, she would have been able to even believe that.

"Do you have to ask?" Philip answered with irritation and stood up, looking at the body. "I don't even know why they keep calling us to those crime scenes. It's fucking useless. Why won't Lestrade just call Sherlock?"

At this exact moment, someone behind Victoria scoffed loudly. She almost rolled her eyes, when she realised that Sally Donovan _still_ couldn't get over her hatred towards the world's only consulting detective. What was wrong with that woman, she had no idea, but it started to really piss her off.

"Because the freak is a junkie himself," the sergeant said and walked up to Victoria, who tried very hard not to show any signs of her anger. "He'd probably search the body for a hit, before doing anything else."

God, her face looked like such a perfect punching bag. It had never occurred to Victoria, but now it seemed clear as day.

"Sally!" Anderson scolded the woman angrily. "I don't see you offending other drug addicts, just because they have a _problem_."

"Well, they aren't completely fucked up," Donovan answered, and Victoria exchanged annoyed looks with Philip.

"How can you listen to all those things that leave your mouth, and not want to vomit?" Radcliffe asked and shook her head. "He's saved the Yard so many times, doing _your job_ …"

"Exactly, _my job_ ," the sergeant interrupted and frowned. "And yours too. You should probably focus on it, instead of following Holmes like a lost puppy. People are dying."

"And that's about the end of your _expertise_ , sergeant." Sherlock's voice reached Victoria's ears, so she turned around to look at him. "Frankly, I'm surprised that you've been able to deduct this much. Maybe you've finally learned how to kneel in more appropriate situations, than helping Anderson cheat on his wife."

Victoria fought the urge to explode in laughter, as soon as she'd seen Sally's furious expression. The woman looked like she was about to kill Holmes on the spot, and he must have noticed that as well, because a fake smile appeared on his face.

"What the fuck did you say to me?" Donovan asked angrily, and Sherlock clasped his hands behind the back.

"I've said: could you please move out of my way? Thank you."

Not waiting for her response, he rushed forward and stopped in front of the body. Victoria crossed her arms over the chest, observing him with a small smile. Just as expected, he barely even acknowledged her presence, instantly focusing on the crime to solve.

"I'm out of here," Donovan stated, but no one cared, as Philip and Victoria started to observe Sherlock and his ministrations.

Holmes kneeled in front of the victim and frowned. His gaze moved rapidly from place to place, stopping only for a split second, only to flick to some other part of the body. He hadn't said a word, but no one felt the need to rush him, or try to coax the explanation out of him.

After a few minutes of silence, he finally looked up and glanced towards Victoria.

"Did you check those places I've told you about?" he asked.

Vic nodded and scowled. Of course she did. She wasn't stupid enough to simply ignore Sherlock's words, not matter if he was high or sober when he'd said them.

"No one's seen or heard anything," she said and shrugged.

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"I'm not an idiot, Sherlock," she snorted. "They're lying, but I can't exactly prove it."

"Of course you can."

"Not without breaking the law, I can't."

"Why would you care for such an insignificant detail?" He raised his eyebrows, and she smiled mockingly.

"Since I'm a police officer? And I'm bound to catch people who _break_ the law?"

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, before scowling lightly.

"Right. Sometimes I forget how useless you can be," he said and froze, when a realisation hit him. "I meant police officers in general."

Oh, so he _did_ remember about their special arrangement. Victoria smirked at him, while Sherlock tried to look absolutely unfazed by his unusual statement. Anderson glanced at them with curiosity, his eyes starting to gleam cheerfully, telling the woman that she was in for a very thorough questioning. Her plan to keep their relationship in secret was failing miserably, it would seem.

"Of course you did," she snorted, wanting to relieve the tension a bit, but it didn't stop Philip from staring at them intensely. "Could you tell us what you've noticed?"

"The victim is a recovering drug addict. Track marks on his forearm are noticeable, but they certainly aren't _new_ , which means that he tried to get clean. His clothes smell of smoke and sweat, allowing me to think that he was spending a lot of time in crowded bars. It's a very peculiar habit for someone who's trying to recover from an addiction. Drugs and alcohol don't mix," he said and looked up. "Trust me, I've tried." Victoria rolled her eyes, but didn't say a word. She just watched as Sherlock stood up and pointed to the victim's fingers. "His nails are dirty. Even extremely so; yet he didn't try to fight his killer. No, he was caught by surprise. So why is there dirt underneath his fingernails?"

Sherlock's voice faded a bit, and a single crinkle appeared on his forehead. His gaze became absent, but only for a moment. The man snapped out of his daze and turned around, facing Victoria.

"Leave the badge and come with me."

"What?" she asked, completely dumbfounded. "Sherlock, I can't just…"

"Time is _everything_."

He brushed past her, leaving her no choice, but to follow. His strides were long enough to force her to almost run, just to stay close to him.

"Sherlock! For fuck's sake, I have _things_ to do," she stated angrily, and the man stopped abruptly, causing her to bump into him.

He caught her with a surprising reflex, but didn't move away when she managed to straighten herself. His hands were still resting on her waist, and her face started to warm up from the embarrassment. People were now glancing in their direction. Victoria could almost see all those thoughts starting to form in their brains, when they'd noticed his hands _touching her voluntarily._

"Does one of these things include acting like a klutz?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I have _a job_ , Sherlock," she answered, jabbing his chest with her finger. "You may think we're useless, but it's not entirely true."

"Fine. I'll call John." He rolled his eyes and turned around, taking his leave.

"Great," Victoria muttered and scratched her head, deciding not to follow him.

She watched him catch a cab with a blank expression on her face. Soon, it turned into a smile, when a wave of warmth spread throughout her body. Maybe he didn't greet her with a passionate kiss. Maybe he didn't say anything that could point to a major change in their relations, but… he _touched_ her. He didn't have to, but he still did. Victoria was probably being stupid, but for her it felt like something _huge_.

"I'll be damned. He really does have a thing for you, huh?" Lestrade muttered, joining her all of a sudden. She didn't even see him get close, she was so busy thinking about Sherlock.

"Um… Yeah?" she admitted quietly and smiled. It still didn't feel _real_.

"Fucking miracle, that's what it is…" he said and shook his head. "I'm happy for you."

"Thank you, I guess."

"I hope he's not going to turn you into a psycho."

Victoria laughed and patted Lestrade on the shoulder.

"I think I already am one. Why else would I even _want_ him?"

"Hell if I know."

* * *

She woke up abruptly, drenched in sweat. Her breathing was irregular and her heart was beating so fast that she felt the urge to clutch her chest, just to stop it from tearing it. Another nightmare. Another _fucking_ nightmare that wasn't even scary. It just left her with that overwhelming sense of powerlessness. Victoria really hoped that Sherlock would catch the killer, because she really started to miss being able to sleep through the night.

"How long have you been having nightmares?" A voice forced her heart to stop for a moment, as she grabbed her gun and pointed it at the silhouette, sitting in her chair.

Holmes. Right. He broke into her apartment yet again, scaring the shit out of her. Victoria really wanted to be furious, but the relief washing over her body was far too great. She just sighed and lowered her hand, ignoring its shakiness.

"A while," she answered, seeing no point in scolding him again.

He purposefully ignored all of her lectures, and having him here made her feel… well, safe in a way.

"That's hardly a precise answer, Victoria," Sherlock said mockingly, and she looked in his direction.

Moonlight poured into the room, but it was still not enough to allow her to see his face. It wasn't hard to guess that he kept staring at her intently, waiting for her _honesty_.

"I don't know. They started when I realised that solving that case is… well, _too_ difficult for me." A scowl appeared on her face, and she scratched her head angrily.

Now that her breath started to steady and her heartbeat slowed down, Victoria realised that her flimsy shirt clung to her body like second skin, allowing the cold to chill her to the bone.

"The law is quite a limiting factor when it comes to solving crimes such as these," Sherlock said and stood up.

Victoria hugged herself, feeling the need to hide her body from his prying eyes, even though she knew he probably wasn't interested in it. Not at the moment, at least. It didn't change the fact that she was still basically naked, and left for him to see.

"Did you find something?" she asked, ignoring her sudden insecurity. Sherlock moved forward, stopping in front of the bed and offering her a small smile.

"Yes. We can talk about it later."

"Why not now?"

"Because I seem to recall that you don't function on just a few hours of sleep, Victoria," he said and pushed her gently, leaving her no choice, but to lie down again.

"I seem to recall that you just love the idea of robbing me of my sleep," she mocked, reaching for the cover. "If you don't want to talk, why are you here?"

"Watching you sleep helps me think."

"Why?" she muttered, glancing up to look at his face.

"I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it's because of your snoring. It resembles white noise in a way."

"I don't snore, you prick!" Victoria hissed, but Sherlock only smiled.

"Of course you do. Maybe not like a truck. It's more of a gentle snore."

"Shut up," she answered and closed her eyes. The initial rush of adrenaline was now gone, making her sleepy.

Letting herself drift off would be the easiest thing in the world, but Sherlock was still standing there and watching her. She opened her eyes again and looked at him.

"Are you staying here?"

Sherlock blinked, and clearly snapped out of his own thoughts.

"Why would I do that?" he asked in a surprised tone.

"I don't know. Maybe because it's the middle of the night, and my bed is extremely comfortable?"

Her eyes closed again, and she smiled gently, when Sherlock didn't reply. He probably started to calculate all the answers in his mind, trying to decide what do to do. _And_ what it would mean.

"There are things that need to be done," he finally said, causing her to sigh.

"Then go and do them. Just let me sleep, okay?"

Sherlock fell silent again, and Victoria started to slowly lose consciousness, as her mind drifted off to sleep. She was about half-asleep, when he moved and the fabric of his jacket rustled quietly. Soon, his weight rested on the other side of her bed, making her smile instantly.

"What is the point of this activity?" he muttered.

"To sleep," she slurred and forced herself to look at him one more time.

"I don't want to sleep," he stated, sounding a bit irritated.

Victoria forced herself to wake up, as she propped herself up on the elbow. A deep frown graced Sherlock's face, as he stared at the ceiling with a confused expression.

"Then why are you here?"

"I… You have nightmares."

"Yes, I do," she agreed.

"That's not very good, is it?"

"Sherlock, are you trying to tell me that you're worried about me?" Victoria asked with amusement, and he blinked rapidly.

"Possibly."

She snorted and lied down again. His head turned, instantly seeking eye contact with her. Victoria stared deep into his eyes and felt another rush of adrenaline, just because she finally realised that Sherlock was really _here_ –in the same bed, with her.

"I don't like that feeling," he stated quietly.

"You won't like most of the feelings that come with affection," she answered truthfully. "But those you _will_ like… They will outweigh everything else."

"Have you been reading those ridiculous books too?" Sherlock asked, while Victoria rolled her eyes.

"No. I'm not completely daft, when it comes to relationships. Can we please go to sleep?"

"I suppose so."

"Good."

Victoria closed her eyes again and fought the urge to simply move towards the man, lying next to her, and embrace him. His warmth would lull her to sleep, just as his scent and the steady beating of his heart. She wanted to get closer, but she didn't. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sherlock felt highly uncomfortable just being there. Radcliffe didn't want to scare him away, or make him come to a conclusion that relationships were dreadful. Even still, she allowed herself to hope that maybe one day, he would pull her close out of his own volition. Maybe she just had to wait.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes, only to realise that the room he was currently in, wasn't his bedroom. If that fact wasn't alarming enough, there was also someone lying beside him. His body stiffened immediately, when he spotted Victoria's hair on his chest, and one of her hands slung across his abdomen. She was fast asleep, probably completely unaware of the position she had put them in, judging by her earlier reluctance to even touch him.

Holmes spent a few seconds, trying to decide if her proximity bothered him, but finally, he relaxed and simply eased into her touch. She would probably be very embarrassed, when she finally woke up. He expected her to act like every other women –like Janine, for example. As soon as he lied down on the bed, he waited for her to embrace him. It seemed like something that… _couples_ did, and even despite his reluctance to fully acknowledge that sudden change in their relations, he still expected that Victoria would have no trouble doing that.

She didn't do anything. It took her only a minute to fall asleep again, and it seemed like a peaceful dream. Sherlock spent quite some time, staring at her face and studying it, as if it was a fine piece of art. Her lips parted slightly, and all of the creases disappeared, making her look even younger. A familiar urge to touch her skin attacked his thoughts, but he refrained from such actions. He did not want to disturb her slumber, and besides… He really needed to think.

What would it feel like to simply hold her? Or let her hold _him_? Physical contact was not something he craved. Nights spent with Janine only seemed to confirm that fact, as they mostly consisted of him lying awake, counting every second left until the first rays of sun would finally emerge. But when it came to Victoria… Sherlock found himself quite eager to repeat the experience. She smelled nice, and –despite what he'd said about her snoring- she was a rather peaceful sleeper. The woman didn't move around much, reminding him of a statue –only a breathing one.

Sherlock was a bit disappointed that she decided to refrain from touching him, but it was very easy to figure out her reasons. After all, she had known him quite well –maybe even better than everyone else. She never sought physical contact with him, unless it was absolutely necessary, or she simply got lost in her emotions. Maybe he needed to assure her in some way, that when it came to her, things were completely different?

Waking up in her bed, with Victoria's body touching his own, was… well, pleasant, for the lack of a better word. Frankly, he couldn't describe the turmoil of emotions that appeared in his mind, but Sherlock knew that most of those feelings were good ones. He remembered her words from earlier, and realised that she might have been right, even if –at the moment- she'd sounded quite ridiculous. The worry he'd felt in the middle of the night disappeared without a trace, leaving place for other things. Things that made him think that sharing bed with another person wasn't quite as bad as he remembered.

Victoria stirred slightly, and then stiffened, when she realised what position she was now in. Sherlock smiled mockingly and allowed himself to touch her hair, following one of the strands with his fingers.

"Good morning," he said, causing her muscles to tense even more.

"G-good morning," she answered and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Use me as a pillow?"

"Um… yes?"

"Well, it wasn't an entirely dreadful experience."

Victoria sighed and shifted, escaping his embrace. She turned around, lying on her stomach now, and she looked him in the eye.

"Thanks, Sherlock. That's very nice to hear," she mocked, but her expression wasn't offended, or angry.

A small smile appeared on her lips, only confirming his theory that she refrained from touching him only for his sake. Victoria looked quite happy that she had gotten to wake up in such a proximity to him, and that realisation made him satisfied as well. He much preferred to watch her smile.

"What time is it?" she asked, glancing towards the clock standing on the bedside table.

Her body froze in fear, when she spotted the hour. Victoria jumped out of bed immediately, while Sherlock's attention drifted to her bare legs. He'd never noticed that, but she had _long_ legs. Maybe that's why she was able to keep up with him so well? He pushed away that thought, focusing on a different one –one that was much more primitive. The skin on her legs looked smooth, just as the rest of her body. He could see the outline of her muscles –not overly big, but definitely noticeable. His eyes trailed up, only to stop at the edge of those flimsy shorts she was wearing.

What was even the point of dressing in such an outfit? She could have slept naked, and it wouldn't have made any difference at all. Sherlock felt a rush of heat, when his gaze rested on her buttocks. He could see every movement of her muscles, deciding that it was a rather fascinating sight. He kept staring at her behind, until she raised her hand and the shirt rode up, exposing more of her skin. His mouth went dry all of a sudden.

"Why the hell did my clock decide to malfunction?! I swear I've set it yesterday."

"Yes, I've decided to turn it off," Sherlock stated absently. Victoria turned around abruptly, snapping him out of his daze.

"You decided to…" she started and then blinked with confusion. "Were you staring at my ass?!"

"Yes," he nodded and frowned. "Quite an irresistible occupation."

Her mouth opened, and then closed, while blush started to colour her cheeks. Sherlock couldn't decide whether she looked more embarrassed, or… _excited_. She bit her lip, giving him tons of satisfaction. It wasn't hard to figure out that she kept doing that whenever she felt troubled, or if her own thoughts drifted off to a very _primitive_ area. He decided that her behaviour had to be caused by the latter reason, and that knowledge felt incredibly pleasing.

"Why are you wearing these shorts?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "Can't be because of _modesty_. They cling to you like second skin."

"I sleep in them, because there's always a chance that someone decides to break into my apartment in the middle of the night," she replied viciously and crossed her arms over the chest. "I don't want to _flash_ people, Sherlock."

"And who exactly breaks into your apartment at night?"

"Apart from the obvious?" Victoria smirked and raised her eyebrow. "No one. Doesn't mean it _can't_ happen."

She turned around and resumed her search for suitable clothes –this time, she started to go through her underwear, if he could see correctly.

"Why did you turn off my alarm clock?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Because I knew it would ring sooner or later."

"That's what alarm clocks _do_ , Sherlock," Victoria stated angrily, looking at him briefly, before getting back to her task.

"Precisely."

Truth to be told, Sherlock decided to turn off the clock, because she was having a nightmare. A nightmare that would have made her terribly tired in the end, and tired Victoria was of no use to anyone. Well, she could still be helpful to Lestrade and his group of idiots, but her mind didn't work like it was supposed to.

"Have you considered the possibility that I have a _job_? A job that requires me to show up in the workplace once in a while?"

"Yes. I still don't understand your reasons for tolerating that dreadful, boring occupation. Why don't you quit and become my full-time assistant?" he asked, causing Victoria to snort in amusement.

"Are you kidding me? Mary would kill me if I took John's spot. She revels in the idea of having a peaceful home."

Sherlock could almost hear her rolling her eyes, and he allowed a small smile to appear on his face. Yes, Mary definitely required lots of peace lately. John was getting on her nerves, and nerves weren't any good for the unborn Watson. Or so she kept saying, whenever she called him, asking to take John out.

"We could always work together. All three of us." Sherlock watched as she turned around, sending him an amused look.

"You don't need me, Sherlock. Frankly, you don't need _anyone_."

Few months ago, he would probably feel no need to argue that statement. He was alone for a very long time, and for a reason. People meant something to him, but not in an ordinary, acceptable manner. People created riddles, and riddles gave him the exact same high that only drugs could. Or so he thought.

Then she came around, forcing him to understand that he didn't have to be lonely forever. That he didn't _need_ loneliness and detachment to be brilliant.

"I don't think that's the case anymore," he muttered quietly and watched her expression change into a soft, almost tender one.

 _That's what sentiment looks like,_ he thought, kind of expecting that feeling of utter repulsion to appear out of the blue. It didn't. Instead, he just wanted to smile at her, knowing that there was nothing fake about the emotions swirling inside her blue eyes. Victoria, even if she managed to trick him, when they'd first met, was like an open book to him. It took him some time to understand that it wasn't only because of his deductive skills, but also because she _let_ him see everything.

"I'm always going to be there for you, Sherlock," she stated gently. "But you and John have something special as well. Before you became friends, you were _partners_ , and you still are. Don't ask me to ruin it."

Even with his minimal understanding of human nature, he knew that not many people would have been able to act this selfless. Women especially, had the tendency to protect _their men_ , and put them in an invisible cage that only drew them apart in the end. Victoria was the complete opposite. And maybe it was one of the reasons for his fascination with her.

"I'm going to take a shower. I left the spare keys on the kitchen table. Please, close the door when you leave" she said, blushing slightly.

Sherlock blinked and then stood up, readying himself to start his own day. He put on his jacket and the shoes, while Victoria stood in the threshold of her bathroom with an unsure expression. Was he supposed to say something? Sherlock straightened himself abruptly.

"I will," he answered, but the woman didn't relax. A frown appeared on his forehead, as he began studying her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and cleared her throat. She grabbed the handle, ready to go in, when Sherlock decided that he couldn't leave without doing one more thing.

He closed the distance between them and kissed her, before she could stop him. A familiar rush of adrenaline spread throughout his body, making his heart race. A shiver ran up his spine, when her lips moved slightly, as she gave in without hesitation, allowing him to do whatever he pleased.

Sherlock still couldn't understand what made those kisses so… _explosive_ , but he found that they made his mind swirl with thousands of thoughts and different pictures, and it was a sensation he truly craved. Kissing her made his world spin even faster –just like the drugs did. There was no calculation in his movements. He simply did what felt right, what made this chaos inside his body rage even more. And he _loved_ every second of it.

He felt her hands on his back, travelling upwards until they tangled themselves in his hair. His own hands found her waist and pulled her even closer, until he could feel her entire body pressed against his, radiating off heat, which only fuelled the fire that started to burn inside him. He wanted more. He wanted more of whatever she was doing to him, but at the same time, Sherlock knew he couldn't have it. Not right now. Not, when there were things to do.

He pulled back and his gaze immediately landed on her clouded irises. They were slightly darker than usual, he thought. Or maybe it was just the fault of her dilated pupils? Whatever it was, he decided that she looked mesmerising in a way. Her lips swollen, blush covering her cheeks… and that look in her eyes, letting him know that he wasn't the only one so affected by that single kiss.

"This was fun," he stated quietly. Victoria grinned at him, and he couldn't help, but to mirror her expression.

"We should probably do it again sometime," she agreed and raised her eyebrows. "I'm still mad at you for the alarm clock, though."

Sherlock took a step back and smoothed out his jacket.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Fine, I'm not." Victoria rolled her eyes. "But don't do that again, or I'll shoot you."

"No, you won't."

"I'm crazy enough to fall for you. Who the hell knows what I am capable of?" she asked.

Sherlock looked at her intently and smiled.

"I do, Victoria."

She was quiet for a moment, but then she finally sighed and turned around.

"Go. Or else I'll never get to work." She sent him a meaningful glance, and –somehow- he understood what she meant.

He _really_ understood.


	23. ANNOUNCEMENT

First of all – I'm really sorry. This is not an update. So if you don't want to read it – don't. I just feel like I need to share this with you, because you deserve to know the reason for the lack of updates.

I've never expected that this story would become something that is adored by so many people. It's a fanfiction, sure, but I still consider it one of the toughest things I've ever decided to write. I can't even tell you how much time I've spent thinking about the plot, analysing characters' personalities and trying to get inside their heads. Countless amount of sleepless nights, just because I had a conflict to resolve. Long, long hours of writing that resulted in over 300 pages in Word. Huge, right?

Having said that, everyone is entitled to have their opinion. I don't require you to love my work, just because it's been challenging for me. No. I'm not perfect. I still believe that I would find dozens things to correct in this story, to make it better, more realistic. And I'm always open to hear some advice. Constructive criticism is the only way for me to grow, to become better. But – let me just tell you – there is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING constructive in calling someone's work _cheap._

Like I said, if you got that feeling from a story – not only mine, but somebody else's – you have the right to tell them, sure. But please, never do it in such straightforward way, because it's going to hurt. Just like it hurt me. And it almost cost me to quit writing this fic, for one simple reason.

When you pour your heart and soul into something, even if it's a stupid fanfiction, when you write over three HUNDRED pages, you expect that it's not going to consist of only bad things. Three hundred pages, guys! And in the end, your story not only gets called cheap, but it's becoming like "every other story", despite all your efforts to make it stand out, to make it special.

Let me tell you a secret now – even if someone does a shitty job at writing, you should ALWAYS give them something to work on, while pointing out the good things, because there's always something good. Constructive part of criticism means that you point out both strengths and weaknesses. And even if I always say that I love to hear advice and tips to make my writing better, this kind of criticism I DO NOT how to take. It hurts, and it extinguishes my motivation to write. Because if that's the only thing that someone bothered to share with me – that my story is becoming cheap and basically like every other story – why should I even bother? Why put myself through more of the sleepless nights? Why do it?

The answer is simple. For the rest of you, who have been lifting me up with your lovely comments throughout the way. I get it now, but I just needed some time to clear my head and come back with a different mind-set – one that wasn't clouded with hurt and disappointment, both with myself and this story.

And I know that I'm probably reading too much into it, but I cannot help feeling this way. I feel better after sharing my thoughts with you, and I figured it was going to be the best way to go.

Thank you for your patience and constant love you're giving me. I'd probably have given up already if it wasn't for you. New chapters are coming, and I strongly encourage you to tell me if something's wrong with them. Because it is possible to do in a way that will leave the author motivated, instead of broken. I've doing it for a long time now – helping other people get better, without making them regret ever starting to write something. The only thing you need to do is to remember that plots and characters don't grow on trees. They're the outcome of someone's hard work.

And that's all I wanted to say.


	24. Chapter 22

**I just cannot say how much I appreciate all the kind words you've been sending my way. It means the world to me and I feel like I finally have my mind set right to finish this story. Seriously, guys, you're amazing! I love you all!**

 **The "time-out" allowed me to come to a very important decision - I've decided where I want to finish my story. Obviously, I'm not going to tell you, but it gave me a different perspective on things.**

 **I also decided to "hire" a beta. I have no idea how to do this, because I've never had one. Honestly I don't know where to even look, but I feel like this story deserves to be corrected properly - not by someone whose native language isn't even English (hello there, i'm talking about myself!). So... If anyone would be interested in the positon - let me know!**

 **Thank you for staying with me. And for everything! I will not abandon this story, so don't worry! **

* * *

Victoria didn't really feel the need to announce her arrival to anyone. Baker Street became her second home a long time ago, and no one seemed to be bothered by her presence anymore. She simply entered Sherlock's place and seated herself in his usual spot; the armchair had always looked comfortable, but the woman rarely decided to invade Holmes' privacy in such way. Somehow it didn't feel wrong now.

Was it because of the sudden change in their relations? Or maybe Radcliffe had simply began to understand that the socially awkward man acted almost normal when it came to her?

She half expected Sherlock to be here. After he promised to help her solve the mysterious crimes that plagued Victoria's dreams, it seemed probable that he would now be spending every second of his waking hours, trying to unveil the identity of the killer. His behaviour at the crime scene pointed to that, just as his visit to her apartment in the middle of the night.

The detective wanted to smile at the memory of his lips locked with her own in a passionate kiss; one she definitely didn't expect, not so early in their relationship. It was surprising, but in the most pleasant way. Getting used to having him close was easy, and the thought that maybe he shared that feeling made everything even better.

Was she stupid for acting like a teenage girl, having her first, _real_ relationship? Probably. Victoria almost couldn't recognize herself; rarely did she have such a strong urge to smile at people, or to stare at her phone with a dreamy expression. It was ridiculous in a way, Radcliffe couldn't exactly argue that statement. But, for once in her life, she actually wanted to be happy, even for couple of days. The women felt like she deserved it.

The door to the apartment opened and revealed a familiar, tall silhouette belonging to no one else, but Sherlock Holmes. He stormed into the room and stopped, when his gaze rested on her body, curled in the armchair.

"That's my chair," he stated calmly and Victoria shrugged.

"It isn't labelled, is it?" she said and offered him a mocking smile.

Just seeing the confusion on his face made her want to giggle inappropriately to both her age and occupation. Radcliffe stopped herself and shifted to a more comfortable position, which immediately brought a frown to his forehead.

"Will you move if I tell you that I may have found the killer?" Sherlock asked with slight irritation, but Victoria ignored it completely.

She stood up abruptly, only interested in the second part of his sentence. How? How was he able to find the culprit in such a short amount of time, when she had struggled for months?! The detective felt the sting of jealousy in her body, and pushed it away immediately. There was no need to envy him; brilliance that allowed him to solve every crime came at a price -very high one.

"How?" she said, asking the question that bugged her.

His expression changed immediately. A smug smile appeared on Sherlock's face, as he continued to stare at her from a distance.

"Oh, I have someone on the _inside_."

Victoria blinked and then a sigh escaped her lips. Wiggins. It must have been him... After all, he _worked_ for Sherlock now, although she had no idea why Holmes had chosen to trust someone whom he'd met in a drug den. Maybe it wasn't weird, considering the fact that they must have done drugs together multiple times?

"What did you learn?" she said and crossed the arms over her chest.

"That people are scared, mostly," Sherlock answered and replaced his coat with a dressing gown - beige one, if she could see correctly.

A moment later he placed himself in _his_ armchair, before Victoria could have returned to the spot. It made her roll her eyes with amusement.

"That's not very surprising. Everyone would be scared if a serial killer was running around their district, killing seemingly innocent people with no witnesses," Radcliffe said and raised her eyebrows.

Sherlock joined the tips of his fingers in front of his face and allowed a small smile to grace his lips; it was mysterious and very satisfied at the same time, making Victoria somewhat uneasy and excited.

"Yes, I suppose they would," he agreed, positively amused. "But, the truth is, they are scared because of the _urban legend._ Some kind of a myth that has been told for the past few years."

The woman blinked a couple of times, trying to understand Sherlock's words to their full extent. What urban legend? Why would a legend be scarier than the actual killer?

Oh, it must have been connected to the series of murders somehow. Maybe it portrayed the exact way the killer decided to execute the victims? Or maybe it talked more about some kind of ideology behind this unfortunate chain of events? It wouldn't be surprising. Serial killers often chose to justify their terrible deeds by something that, in their minds, sounded perfectly reasonable.

Victoria walked up to Sherlock and lowered herself onto the chair's arm. To her surprise, the man's hand landed on her waist almost automatically, reminding her of the sight of him and Janine together. She started to regret her action, but knew better than to simply let her mind drift away from the important topic.

"Are you going to tell me what is it about?" she asked and waited for his reply.

His thumb stroked her hip absentmindedly, and Victoria had no doubts that he wasn't focusing on the movement at all. It mimicked something she'd seen him do dozens of times; Sherlock liked to tap his fingers against each other, or any other surface. Maybe the steady rhythm helped to organise his thoughts. It was pleasant, nonetheless, and it made this entire situation feel... weirdly normal.

"This myth... It talks of a vigilante that wants to purge the district of crime and depravation. He targets people who claim to have abandoned the old ways, but, in reality, are still rotten inside," Sherlock said and frowned. "All of the victims were former drug addicts and current drug dealers."

Victoria froze upon hearing his words. Drug dealers? How? They didn't have any drugs on them and their bodies weren't found in the usual spots known for infamous deals. Still, how could she have missed such a thing? Surely there must have been something pointing in that direction.

"The killer believes that he is, in fact, cleansing the city," Sherlock continued, ignoring the obvious signs of her distress. "He must have a steady supply of drugs -good ones at that. I've read the autopsy reports. The substances used to kill them were pure, almost too pure to waste them on the whim of teaching people a lesson."

"Sherlock..." Victoria said in a warning tone, while Holmes rolled his eyes impatiently.

"I'm not using," he said and sighed. "That's not the subject of our discussion, Victoria."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes and shifted slightly, when her right butt cheek started to feel numb. "What else did you learn?"

"He's probably a former drug addict himself. Or at least someone with a distinct knowledge of how it's supposed to be done. The drug was shot directly into the vein, on the first try in each case."

"But..." she started and Sherlock looked at her immediately. "It requires time. I highly doubt that he would be able to do such thing in a matter of seconds."

"No. I don't think that's what happened. Actually, this is the only part of this entire case that has some mystery. Maybe the killer simply convinced his victims to take a hit, using the quality of the drug? Or maybe he used a different method."

Holmes fell silent and Victoria looked at him with cautious. The lack of explanation, the _insecurity_ bugged him. She could easily tell; his forehead was marred with a deep line, and his gaze moved rapidly across the view in front of him. He still seemed weirdly calm. The woman kind of expected him to pace the room anxiously, in desperate search for answers. He did no such thing though. Holmes simply sat there and stared into the open space, like it could give him peace.

"So you don't really know the killer's true identity?" she asked, clearing her throat beforehand, after she'd realised that she'd been staring at him for a minute or two – probably much to his satisfaction.

"I may not know his name, but I can tell you that he's smart and cunning. He chooses his victims carefully, but you were right – none of the areas I've told you about is the right place to look for him. People there are scared, but they know nothing of his identity."

"So where does he... _hunt_?" she said, and Sherlock smiled with excitement.

"That seems to be the question, doesn't it?"

Victoria felt the surge of adrenaline start to course through her body, when she'd started to think about their own _hunt_. The detective hadn't feel this invigorated in weeks – at least when it came to purely professional aspect of her life. It felt incredible to look in the nearest future with a sense of hope; maybe the killer, whoever he was, could be found after all. Maybe her nightmares could end, allowing Victoria to finally sleep again?

"Have you told Lestrade?" she asked after a moment of silence.

Sherlock frowned and turned to look at her.

"And what would be the point of such action?"

"Oh, I don't know... It's not like he's in charge of that investigation," Radcliffe mocked and Holmes simply sighed, clearly annoyed.

"He's done a wonderful job, hasn't he?"

"Same could be said about me," she pointed out.

"Yes. I just refrained from doing so, in case you decided to burst into tears, or yell at me for being insensitive."

"I'm yelling at you, because you can act like a prick," she said with amusement. "Stating the truth, however, is quite acceptable."

"I always tell the truth. People don't appreciate it very much."

"Liar. You lied to your own mother about me being your girlfriend, Mr 'I'm always honest'."

"Was it a lie if things have eventually ended the way they did?"

"Um, yes?" she asked and snorted. "Do you even know what it means to _lie?"_

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed and raised his eyebrows. "The art of deception poses no mystery to me."

"Same as modesty," she said mockingly and rolled her eyes. "And a couple of other things."

"Like what?"

Victoria fell silent for a moment, trying to decide whether it was the right moment to _have fun_ and tease him. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing the answer, which made her wonder. Maybe he didn't pick up on the obvious sarcasm lacing her voice? Maybe he expected a statement full of praise, rather than one filled with his numerous imperfections.

After a short while, she slipped off the armchair, straight to his lap. She wasn't straddling him, but it would take only a swing of her leg to switch to that position.

"Well, for instance... You have no idea what to do right now, do you?" Victoria whispered into his ear.

Sherlock's body stiffened visibly, but he didn't push her away, which was a relatively good sign. Her heart sped up and a smug smile crossed her lips. Olivia was absolutely right – there was something incredibly alluring about the idea of having to _teach_ him everything. Victoria felt eager to start said lessons, but scaring him off didn't sound like a great thing to do. So, instead of trailing kisses down his neck, she just sat there, waiting for his move.

After a minute, Sherlock relaxed and put his arms around her waist once more; this time hesitantly, like he really was unsure of himself. Radcliffe allowed her forehead to rest on his collarbone, as she simply inhaled his scent.

"This is…" the man said and she muttered something incoherent into his skin. Holmes shivered slightly, but Victoria got a sensation that it wasn't a sign of revulsion. "Nice. Surprisingly so."

"Yeah. I guess I could get used to it," she agreed and turned her head.

Victoria's lips touched his neck briefly, but this time he showed no sign of _weakness_. His hand moved upwards, following the curve of her back like he had the need to study every inch of it; like he wanted to remember what touching her felt like.

"Every fibre of my being should be revolted right now. It isn't," Holmes said quietly.

He turned his head slightly and she could feel his facial muscles tense. The detective knew better than to believe he would change instantly. Sure, he'd made great progress, but everyone still considered him to be _Sherlock_. He didn't lose the essence of his being; brilliance was still written all over his actions, and the way he handled the alleyway murders testified to that. He was… well, himself, but better – at least in her eyes.

"That's very nice of you to say, Sherlock," she laughed and straightened herself to look at his face.

Holmes' baffled expression was priceless, and Victoria had a really hard time keeping a relatively straight face.

"I wasn't trying to be nice. I just voiced my deep misapprehension of the dynamics…"

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off of him. Not like she really wanted to, but the moment was gone and Victoria didn't feel like teasing him any longer.

A time would come, when such thing wouldn't be weird and _new_. The woman just had to be patient and very resilient; Sherlock had a talent to annoy the shit out of everyone, after all. It was just a matter of time when he'd decide to do something incredibly irritating – some things didn't change.

"Victoria…" He stopped her from walking away completely, when his fingers gripped her wrist. The detective turned around and looked at him with a silent question in her eyes. "We need to discuss another case."

Something told her that she wasn't going to like it. His tone sounded serious, but in a very disturbing way. Radcliffe could see the tension in his shoulders, which certainly wasn't there a moment earlier. She slowly lowered herself onto John's chair and fixed her gaze on Sherlock's face.

"Why do I feel like I'm going to be pissed at you in just a couple of minutes?" the detective asked and crossed her arms on the chest.

"This is not a question I'm capable of…"

"It was also a rhetorical one," Victoria interrupted him, which seemed to have an annoying factor. Still, he didn't comment on her obvious rudeness. "Let's get it over with, shall we?"

Holmes remained quiet for a while, trying to see _through_ her, but her stern expression didn't falter, even if inside she felt like screaming. Knowing the consulting detective allowed her to decipher the direction of this conversation, and she had every right to feel anxious. Forgetting about who he really was sounded like a terrible idea – one that she came dangerously close to in the last couple of days.

"Your father," Sherlock stated, and Radcliffe realised that her entire body froze in shock.

Suddenly she couldn't tell what she felt; it was a mixture of many different things. Anger, disappointment, _hurt_ … Just like that, her mind reminded her of the last time, when they'd discussed her childhood. It didn't end well, and Victoria knew that today's conversation wouldn't go any different.

"We've already talked about my father. I don't see a reason to do this again," she answered and stood up, feeling as though she needed to escape.

"Victoria, you can't possibly think that it's a good idea to allow this criminal to…"

"What happened to your _perfect_ memory, huh? I've already asked you to stay away."

"Yes, but this was before Magnussen," he said and clenched his fists. "Should I remind you that there's a significant risk of yet another criminal trying to get my attention? It would be dangerous to…"

"I can't, Holmes!" she yelled, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

There was nothing rational about such behaviour. Victoria wouldn't describe herself as stupid, after all. Criminals belonged behind bars and her father had done despicable things. Maybe even more than once. As much as she tried to keep that subject buried deep within the darkest parts of her mind, Radcliffe woke up every day, knowing that she allowed someone _dangerous_ to remain free, just because of a weakness. Weakness that had lived inside her since that terrible day, many years back. Weakness that made her feel small and useless; like she was still a little girl, unable to do anything but to cry relentlessly.

The idea of letting herself look into that monster's eyes one more time… It scared her. It left her shaking and gasping for air, like she was drowning and no one could help her. Nothing about this was rational, but Victoria didn't consider _logic_ to be the greatest power ever created. Fear, however… Fear had the capacity of bringing out all the worst traits in people.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, forcing her to get back to reality. She was safe, away from any dangers.

It didn't feel like it, though. Her heart raced out of control, her head was spinning and hands shook violently. Sweat started to cover the surface of the woman's skin, and she suddenly felt the need to sit down again.

"Look at me," Victoria said, her voice a mere whisper. "Look at me and say that I seem able to face him."

He didn't answer, nor did he do anything else. Sherlock sat in his chair, staring at her intently. There were no signs of understanding in his expression; actually, he seemed quite impassive. The detective knew better than to hold it against him, but a part of her wanted to just scream in rage. He wasn't supposed to act like he didn't care. He was supposed to _know_ these things.

He didn't.

"You haven't seen him for years," Holmes said.

"I don't want that to change."

" _Why_?"

"Why do I have to go over this again, Sherlock?" Victoria turned her head towards the fireplace and clenched her fists.

"Because the situation is different now, Victoria. Magnussen's threatened your safety and he used your father to do that. I find it hard to understand, why you would choose sticking to your somewhat weird decision, instead of making sure that no one could hurt you again."

"Because opening the door to my past is exactly what will hurt me," the woman said and let out a shaky breath. "I gave up hope that you would understand what it felt like to… To go through all this. To you it might seem completely unreasonable, and it probably is, but to me… I'm scared. Completely terrified."

"I'm not going to let him hurt you again," Sherlock said immediately and his voice sounded much fiercer than it did before. "That's the whole point of finding him."

"I never healed, Sherlock," she answered and looked down to her hands. "Not really. I still sleep with my lights on. I'm scared of darkness, because my mind goes crazy, whenever I can't see a fucking thing. It conjures up the images of the clothes, hanging in the closet… Their smell, texture… I can even hear my brother's screams. What if seeing him makes things even worse? What if all those years of therapy and learning how to cope, will simply go to waste?"

"He has no power over you. Not unless you let him," Sherlock answered calmly.

Victoria glanced at him with surprise. She didn't expect Holmes to give her any advice. He didn't care for all those philosophical conversations, or for the motivational quotes. Actually, he just didn't really care about anything. But his words… They were true to some extent. She had grown to consider her father a monster; a big and scary one, that could haunt the dreams of every little girl. It felt almost like he didn't have his own face anymore. Could she even remember what he truly looked like? Or was the image entirely blurred and hazy?

He was a ghost in a way. A ghost of the past that always sat in the corner of her mind, waiting for the right moment to resurface, so he could break her peace. He clouded her judgement and drove her to bury all the bad memories in her subconsciousness, where they couldn't affect her life anymore. But they _did_ affect it. The fear she felt only testified to that; it controlled her actions, her choices, even thoughts.

Facing those inconvenient truths wasn't easy. Actually, Radcliffe wanted to clench her fists with anger; anger at Sherlock, for forcing her to step out of the comfort zone, but mostly at herself. Because knowing that her behaviour was dictated by the fear she'd created didn't change much. She simply didn't feel like she possessed the power to overcome those demons, to face them and survive without falling apart completely.

"I can't do this, Sherlock," she whispered after a while.

"So you'd rather live in fear and with the constant reminders of your own weakness?" he answered in a mocking tone.

"It's not that simple." Her fists clenched even harder, when she'd heard his voice.

"Yes, it is. You can stay buried in your own memories and childish fears, or you can do something that might actually close that chapter."

"It _is_ closed! And opening it again will only hurt," Victoria said, knowing that she sounded ridiculous. Sherlock's expression seemed to confirm that opinion; he rarely looked at her with such disappointment, such… pity.

"Fine," he stated, surprising her completely. She expected everything, but not such a gentle submission.

"Fine? You're just going to accept my decision?"

"What?" He frowned. "Why would I do something so stupid? Regardless of my… _affection_ towards you, I cannot allow a criminal to avoid justice. I also cannot stand the possibility of him hurting you again."

"So, instead, you just decided to hurt me directly?" she mocked with fury, but Sherlock only blinked and remained unmoved.

"I'm keeping you safe. I don't need your approval to do this. The decision wasn't entirely easy, I assure you. The calculations I've made were very complicated; I had to think about every possible outcome of my actions, and choose the one that's best. It is incredibly surprising, but it turned out that I absolutely can live with you hating me. The idea of seeing you harmed, however, seems to disturb me much more."

"But you will be the one to harm me, Sherlock! That's the thing."

"That's what I do, Victoria," he stated calmly. "I hurt people."

"You _choose_ to hurt people! How many times can we talk about the difference between those two things?!"

"I don't choose. I'm a…"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Victoria hit her thigh in the act of outrage. "Being a sociopath is not an excuse, when you so clearly _can_ act differently. When you _choose_ to act that way! I've seen you make that effort before, so don't bullshit me!"

Holmes looked positively flustered by her words. Victoria couldn't even remember the last time she yelled at him like that. Over the past few months, she developed a certain indifference when it came to his ludicrous behaviour. Radcliffe could handle most of his ridiculous ideas with ease, but this time she felt way too disturbed to simply sit calmly.

"I've already made the effort, Victoria," he answered and frowned. "John told me that it would be best to talk to you about it, before I did anything. Although it seemed like a terrible waste of time, I decided to follow his advice and share that matter with you. I cannot say I'm surprised by your vivid reaction. I still remember the first time I've tried to convince you to do the right thing."

She remembered it too. Everything had changed. Everything, but the decision concerning her father. Arguing him then felt right. Victoria had no doubts that she'd done the right thing, keeping him away from her haunting past. Looking at Sherlock's calm face right now made her question herself.

He stared at her, but his gaze lacked the emotion that had angered her back then. He didn't seem excited, or even agitated. Holmes seemed at peace with his decision, because he believed it was _right_. Not because he tried to chase another mystery. Not because he wanted to get off on solving yet another riddle. No, his reasoning changed drastically and Victoria suddenly started to feel ashamed with herself.

"You really want to help, don't you?" she asked quietly, surprising the man in front of her.

"I want to punish him," he admitted freely. "I believe it to be a necessity."

"But you _do_ think it will help me."

"In a way, yes," Sherlock answered and looked towards the fire. "There will always be another Magnussen. World is created in a certain, very definite way. Predicting some events is easier than breathing, sometimes. Dealing with you father is a good start to prevent anyone from ruining your life."

"That's not what I meant."

Sherlock turned his head towards her, and his eyes suddenly started to feel more intense than it did a moment before. Victoria ignored the shivers, running up her spine, and she returned his gaze with a straight face.

"Facing the trauma is reported to be one of the best ways of treating PTSD. Your father _is_ your trauma. Maybe sending him away is exactly what you need."

Victoria wanted to laugh hysterically. Sherlock Holmes had just given her an advice, regarding her _psyche._ It sounded so ridiculous that she snorted, forcing him to raise eyebrows at her odd behaviour.

"Admit it, you've read that in a book."

The consulting detective rolled his eyes.

"Of course I did."

" _Of course_ ," she sighed and leaned forward, resting her weight on the elbows. "I just… What if it breaks me, Sherlock? What if it will take me years to get back to myself?"

"Well, if it helps, I will gladly hit the bottom with you."

This time, she couldn't stop herself from snorting in amusement. His expression was dead serious, but his words… God, Holmes could be so ridiculous at times.

"Of course it won't, you idiot." Victoria rolled her eyes. "Why would I want you to do something this stupid?"

"I was trying to be nice," he said and blinked. "I've read that…"

"Sherlock. Books are mostly useless when it comes to relationships. Things that work for the majority of people, won't work on us. We're too fucked up for that."

Victoria smiled, watching Sherlock's face intently. His eyes became distant immediately, as he tried to analyse the situation. Suddenly, she became fully aware of the change in her state of mind; the woman no longer felt angry, or scared. Looking at him made her feel like things were bound to work out, one way or another. He'd done so much to keep her safe… More than anyone would have done. She didn't ask for any of those things, but, somehow, Radcliffe felt obliged to at least let him _try_.

She didn't want to see him hurt. She didn't want to see him struggle with a decision that was so unlike him. There was a great possibility that he would just drop the subject if she stayed persistent. Maybe the idea of opening the door to her past didn't seem all that great – it was terrifying and absolutely mad. But still… Just like she didn't want to see her father again, Victoria also couldn't stand the idea of ever forcing Sherlock to go against his nature. She was supposed to accept him, after all.

There was also that quiet, unsure voice in her head. It kept whispering that maybe a time had come to finally face those childish fears Holmes had mentioned. Maybe it was time to bury that little girl in a bloodied, white dress once and for all.

Mostly, she just felt like she owed him. Not because of his willingness to sacrifice _everything_ just to save her. No… She felt obliged to at least _try_ , because of the look he was giving her in that exact moment; his irises were filled with awe and something else she couldn't decipher. Victoria saw no madness or unhealthy excitement – it was just fascination that had nothing to do with her father, and had everything to do with _her_.

"Sherlock…" she said, capturing his attention. "Please, don't let me fall apart."

"That's an awfully weird request. Humans don't just simply…"

"Holmes, for fuck's sake." She rolled her eyes. "Just say yes and let's move on. It's just one of those stupid things couples say to each other."

"Oh," he said, clearly surprised. "It's not exactly smart, is it?"

"On second thoughts, just shut up," Victoria sighed and offered him an amused glance. After a moment it disappeared, though, replaced by a serious expression. "It's not easy, Sherlock. I'm scared to death. I want to run away and never come back, but…"

"But what?"

"But I'm going to face the past. I don't think I'm ever going to be ready for such a thing. Waiting for that moment to come is… well, pointless."

"Yes. I believe so."

"I also don't think I can be mad at you for wanting to catch a monster. Regardless of my feelings, he's still a bad man, and… I actually started to believe that he's more than a _riddle_ to you."

"Riddle?" Sherlock sounded clearly surprised. He blinked with confusion, and Victoria offered him a mocking glance.

"Yeah. Shall I remind you our first conversation? You were _excited,_ Sherlock. You didn't care for my feelings, for my fears. You just found another mystery to solve and getting deprived of that possibility angered you."

Holmes fell silent for a moment, but, finally, he nodded his head in a gesture of acceptance.

"Denying that statement is pointless. I presume that the difference between now and then has a lot to do with our… _arrangement_."

"Really?" she said and raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

"Yes. I've learned that solving crimes is not the only satisfying thing in the world. Well, except from drugs, o _bviously._ " Sherlock rolled his eyes, but then his expression became serious once more. "Kissing you feels satisfying. I didn't expect it to be like this, but… There's a certain type of _high_ that comes with it. And your father's case… It's not exactly a mystery."

"You still have to find him, don't you?" Victoria asked, ignoring the sudden increase in her heartbeat.

"Piece of cake. Already have."

The woman froze, while Sherlock must have realised his mistake, because he looked towards the fire and frowned angrily.

"You've already found him," she repeated slowly, watching him shift slightly. "So this entire conversation was _pointless_?"

"Well, I found it quite enlightening," Sherlock stated, and she clenched her fists with anger.

"I'm going to _fucking kill you_ , Holmes!"


	25. Chapter 23

**No. I have NOT abandoned this story. I mean, how could I abandon something that I truly love? Life gets crazy sometimes. I'm currently writing my master's thesis and it's HELL. I honestly have no idea how long it's been since I've last updated this story, but please, believe me - IT IS NOT ABANDONED. It's just testing your patience :D**

 **As always, thank you for your amazing reviews. They always put a smile on my face, and inspire me to get better and better. I'm still doing my best to keep everyone in character, even if they are exploring... well, new things :D I just want you to know that the reason I'm not giving up on writing, even if I write like five sentences a week sometimes, has a lot to do with your constant support. I cannot thank you enough. But I need you to know that it's very important for me and I love it.**

 **And now... Enjoy!**

* * *

Victoria felt weird, almost to the point, where she wanted to squirm in frustration. Things weren't supposed to be that way; she was even determined to face the past and support Sherlock in his desperate need to find a criminal. But now that she'd learned about his actions… Well, the woman couldn't help, but to feel hurt.

The conversation they had, was really enlightening in some ways. Radcliffe was really happy to know that so many things had changed since the first time she'd mentioned her father, but… Sherlock still had gone behind her back. He still had managed to find her father, before she even began to understand the reasons behind his actions.

What if she hadn't? What if she'd still consider his actions to be hurtful and selfish? Victoria had known better than to think that he would actually feel any remorse for acting on his own. He believed he was doing the right thing and he really was, to some extent.

Still, she couldn't help, but to feel a bit betrayed. It seemed funny in a way, cause Sherlock stopped being a mystery to her quite some time; there was nothing surprising about his lack of care for the consequences of his actions. It was stupid of her to expect that things would suddenly change. But even so, she was entitled to be mad, wasn't she?

"You still refuse to talk to me." The detective glanced up from the stack of files, only to find Sherlock staring at her from his chair, right across her desk. "I find it awfully disturbing."

"You know what else is disturbing?" she asked quietly and propped herself on the elbows. "The fact that you didn't feel the need to tell me about my father earlier. _Before_ you found him."

"Would it really make such difference?"

"Of course it would," she answered and sighed deeply. "Look, I know that you didn't mean to hurt me. Not this time. But I still cannot shake the feeling that my answer wouldn't mean anything. Even if I've told you that it would make me suffer, you'd still act the same. It pisses me off."

Victoria became aware of the attention that their conversation had gained. Everyone in the office kept looking at them with interest, and it made things even worse. Having a domestic at work didn't sound particularly attractive, but having one with Sherlock Holmes, out of all people, seemed even worse.

"What's done is done, Sherlock," she said and looked down at her files. "I will get over it, eventually."

"Your anger makes me uncomfortable," he stated, much to her surprise.

His voice sounded tense, weirdly so. Radcliffe couldn't help, but to glance up once more, only to find him staring at her with an intense expression. She believed him; the glow in his eyes seemed fairly sincere, and it betrayed the sings of anxiety.

"Sherlock…" the woman started, but he looked away, frowning.

"It doesn't make any sense," he interrupted and fidgeted slightly. "I am not used to feeling this way and I obviously despise that state. However, I feel that it is absolutely necessary to make sure that our… _arrangement_ won't suffer because of your lack of ability to separate feelings from work."

She bloody hated him sometimes. Actually, Victoria felt the urge to shoot him and watch him bleed, but after a brief moment she realised that he had actually tried to make amends; if only for the wrong reasons.

"Our arrangement, Sherlock, cannot be broken this easily," Victoria stated and frowned. "I'm pretty sure that eventually you'll cross a line, but this… This is not it. And if it would be possible for me to just start hating you after you've done something horribly insensitive, I would have done so a long time ago."

"No, you wouldn't. You like getting high off of me."

She looked at him angrily, but he only offered her a smug smile.

"You really _are_ addictive, Sherlock," the detective stated, but her voice sounded calm. "But it doesn't mean that I couldn't have made a different choice. I would probably suffer for a while, but I would still regain my balance, even if I've decided to leave you. And you had a different choice too. You could have talked to me, and then looked for my father. It would have been better than going behind my back."

"There was a risk that you would be opposed to the idea, that you would choose to surrender to your fears," Sherlock said and frowned. "Many people do that, even if it is pathetic to the core. But…"

"But what?"

"I couldn't wait, Victoria. Not, when I can still remember Magnussen's threats. Destroying you through your father would be easy, childishly so. And I cannot allow that to happen."

Suddenly, part of her anger disappeared. Sherlock Holmes rarely felt the need to lie, and he never did so, when he didn't need to. Sure, he often used his skills in that particular area to make some things possible, but when it came to _her_ , lying seemed like an unnecessary effort. The detective still couldn't believe it, but he cared for her, in a weird, very _sherlocky_ way. It was not what she wanted. It was not what she believed to be a healthy base for a relationship, but, even still, her heart jumped with excitement and she smiled a bit.

"You're a prick, Holmes. I should probably throw you in jail, but you'd probably find my father anyway. Just… Just don't do things like that," she said after a moment. "I honestly start to feel like _knowing things_ is the best way to manage living with you. Even if the truth hurts or drives me mad, it really is better than feeling betrayed and left out."

To her surprise, Sherlock stood up and went around the desk to face her. Before she could realise what was happening, he bent over and kissed her. Victoria forgot that they were still at the office, with people looking at them constantly. His lips moved slowly, almost too slow for her liking. She stopped herself from pulling him closer, knowing that it would only fuel people's interests; even still, she wanted nothing more than that. His scent, the gentle touch of his hands against her cheeks… It made her feel haunted; for his touch, for his closeness, for _everything_.

When he pulled away, she looked at him with awe, but he only smiled smugly.

"You've done that on purpose, haven't you?" Radcliffe asked weakly, and he rolled his eyes.

He clearly wanted to divert her attention from the remaining anger, and to remind her of all the positive feelings she had for him. Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant manipulator; he was willing to do anything to get out of an uncomfortable situation, even if it meant doing something that went against his very nature.

"I don't think you can kiss someone by accident." The man answered, making her irritated.

"That's not what I meant."

Sherlock straightened himself and forced her to look at him. He seemed unbelievably tall and lean in that moment, much to her heart's dismay; it sped up even more, making her want to push the cloak off his shoulders, and then undo every single one of his buttons, and then…

She blushed fiercely, which only widened his smile.

"I know," he answered and took out his phone. "Got to go. Come to Baker Street later, will you?"

"Maybe," she answered calmly, despite the raging war in her heart.

He left, and Victoria had the weirdest idea ever. She could have sworn that the final look he'd sent her was filled with an emotion that looked surprisingly like excitement. He may have crossed the line to manipulate her, but that didn't mean he didn't _enjoy_ doing it.

Maybe it was crazy, but for a moment, Radcliffe actually believed that Sherlock Holmes wanted her too in the most primitive sort of way.

* * *

Victoria entered the apartment, only to find Sherlock seated in front of his laptop. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but she was smarter than to think he didn't know she was there.

"Hi," she said quietly and went straight to the couch.

Radcliffe lowered herself onto it and let out a deep sigh. She was exhausted. The morning was relatively peaceful, but then Lestrade ordered her to support other detectives in their cases, which led to long hours of rummaging through dozens of files.

"I'm so bloody tired," she muttered and closed her eyes.

The typing stopped and Victoria became very aware of Sherlock's gaze on her. A part of her wanted to open the eyes and look at him – fiercely, bravely, with a hint of a challenge.. But she decided to keep still and let him examine her with cautious. There was something about this situation that made her entire body awakened.

"You should probably stop worrying over things that you cannot control," Sherlock said and she snorted.

"So, I should stop worrying about your actions, huh?"

"Among other things, yes. It was rather futile in the past."

Victoria shook her head, still not opening her eyes.

"I'll never stop worrying about you, idiot. You're extremely unpredictable and bound to do stupid things. Not to mention your tendency to break the law everywhere you go. Not worrying about you is simply impossible at this point."

"If I'm an idiot, what would you call…" he started, clearly displeased with her words. "Well, everyone else?"

"Oh, there are many ways to insult somebody. Calling you an idiot is very effective, because you just cannot stand the idea that there are certain areas in which you are…"

"Almost as brilliant as in others?" he mocked, while she smiled sweetly and opened her eyes.

"… completely dumb."

Holmes frowned angrily, but it didn't stop Victoria from grinning. He looked hilarious with that pout on his face; suddenly he started to remind her of a five year old who was about to throw a tantrum.

"I'm not going to prove you wrong yet again," he stated and she rolled her eyes, incredibly amused.

"Sure, Holmes. Why am I here then? Care to enlighten me?" Victoria stood up and walked towards the desk.

Sherlock continued typing furiously, but his gaze followed her silhouette, making her slightly unsure of herself. There was nothing wrong with the way she looked; sure, Radcliffe could use a quick shower, or change of clothes, but the mirror wouldn't break at the sight of her. Still, Holmes' gaze seemed to scrutinize her in a way that felt weirdly intimate, forcing her to summon all of the will to stop herself from fidgeting.

"You've lost weight," he muttered and averted his gaze, back to the laptop.

"So…? Are you going to feed me?" Victoria mocked and stopped next to him. She glanced at the monitor and raised her brows, when she found out that he was chatting with _someone_. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one. Are you not eating?"

" _You_ are the one with eating disorder." The women rolled her eyes. "I've been through some shit lately, you know?"

"I always took you for someone who eats away their stress."

"There are different kinds of stress. I don't think anything can compare to the feeling of watching someone you…" she broke off, feeling utterly ridiculous.

The typing stopped and Sherlock tensed slightly. Victoria wanted to curse herself for nearly saying something she'd truly regret, but it was too late. She sighed and shook her head.

"I wasn't prepared for seeing you leave for good. And I sure as hell wasn't prepared for everything that came after."

"That's not what you wanted to say," he replied and turned his head to glance at her.

Victoria allowed herself to look deep into his eyes, even if it could turn out to be a bad idea. His irises seemed to hypnotise her, but that magnetic gaze couldn't change the sudden insecurity that awakened in her brain. Did she truly love him? Or was it just a simple affection that would only grow into something more powerful?

Radcliffe couldn't answer that question; she simply wasn't ready for it. Not when things were so fresh, so _new_ and complicated. She might have fallen for him hard, but talking about this seemed like a crazy idea.

"No," she admitted and looked away. "But no matter how hard you try, I'm still not going to say it."

"I already know," he answered, forcing the woman to roll her eyes.

"Of course you do. Keep it to yourself, though, cause we're _not_ ready to have that conversation." Despite feeling utterly stupid, she put her hand on his shoulder and leaned down, staring at the screen. "Who are you talking to?"

"We're not ready to have that conversation either."

"Is it a woman?" Victoria mocked and Sherlock snorted with displeasure.

"Appalling idea, really. I discovered that chatting with women online is a synonym for pure torture."

His words made her chuckle, but she still didn't give up on finding out the identity of his interlocutor. A mad idea popped into her head, and before she could actually think about it, she lowered herself even more and rested her chin against his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked instantly, but it didn't stop her from nuzzling her nose against his neck. Sherlock froze, but he didn't push her away, which was a relatively good sign, or at least she hoped so.

"Distracting you, obviously." Her whisper made him shift slightly, but she knew better than to think it was an act of contempt or disgust.

Victoria's mouth rested against his pulse, which was slightly elevated. It only confirmed her theory.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked, allowing her lips to graze the surface of his skin. Holmes moved his fingers off the keyboard, making her weirdly satisfied; he could be a walking rock sometimes, but he still reacted to her ministrations like every man would.

"I'm not telling you, Victoria. And I also find it incredibly funny that you believe such actions would make me…"

She kissed his neck gently and sucked on it; his breath hitched and the tension in his shoulders intensified. A smile appeared on her face, but the woman wouldn't dare to laugh at him in that moment.

"What were you saying?"

"Is my brain supposed to malfunction in those kind of situations? It certainly hasn't done that before," he muttered quietly, while she planted another kiss right next to the previous one.

"To be honest, I'm counting on it."

It was a weird sensation – to feel this empowered in his company. Sherlock always dominated the scene, making it his own, playing everyone around. And she was no different. Victoria allowed him to manipulate her, even if she had never believed that such thing could happen. She had let him slither into her life and turn it around completely. But right then… Radcliffe felt like she _owned him_ , and it was a feeling so satisfying, so _exciting_ that she didn't stop her hand that ventured into his hair, grasping at it and pulling his head to the side.

"Tell me, Sherlock," she whispered again and planted several kisses on his jawline, which was now perfectly exposed.

His breathing became shallow, even if he consciously tried to control himself.

"Do they teach you to interrogate witnesses like that?"

Victoria let out a short laugh and moved her fingers through the strands of his hair; they were soft, silky almost, and it only made her want to repeat her actions over and over.

"Come on, Sherlock. We both know that you're immune to most interrogating techniques. I had to try something… _different_."

"I'm still not telling you anything."

Before he could protest, she turned and swung her leg over his thighs, straddling him. She was surprised to see that weird combination of emotions in his eyes. He was puzzled, slightly anxious, but Victoria had no doubts that he would do nothing to stop her. Cause he was still curious, probably about many things. And she wanted to show him _everything_.

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't. It's still going to be fun, trying getting that information out of you." She smirked and put her arms around his neck.

"It's hard to talk and kiss at the same time," he answered in his calm, reasonable tone, which made her amused.

"Not necessarily," she purred and got closer. "Cause, you see… You can do the talking, while I do the kissing."

"Oh," he exhaled sharply and froze, when her lips touched his own lightly.

Victoria smiled and deepened the kiss, unable to deny herself that one second of pleasure. Just when he responded, she moved away, dragging her lips across his cheek, jaw and finally the neck.

"Isn't it called 'teasing'?" Sherlock asked quietly, while she allowed herself to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

She felt his heartbeat underneath her palms – strong, fast and quite erratic, for someone who loved feeling in control. Radcliffe started to wonder if he allowed her to do all those things, because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. She dismissed the thought, because his reactions were pretty easy to interpret. He might have been anxious and uncomfortable, but the signs of arousal were clear.

"Do you like it?" she whispered into his skin.

Sherlock turned his head slightly.

"Absolutely not, which only makes everything more confusing."

"Why?" Victoria stopped moving, a bit afraid that she had lost her mind and somehow confused his behaviour with something entirely different.

"Because I still don't want you to stop. No, actually." She could feel the tension in his facial muscles. "I want to kiss you."

"Let's strike a deal." Victoria shifted and looked into his eyes with an impish grin. "I'll let you kiss me, however you'd like, wherever you'd like… If you tell me, who you were talking to."

"Mm… No deal."

Radcliffe grabbed his neck and squealed, when she felt his hands on her bottom. He lifted himself from the chair and took her with him. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips, and his arousal became quite obvious. She blushed slightly, only to turn crimson red, when he started to carry her to his bedroom.

"Sherlock…?"

He didn't answer. He simply entered the room and dropped her onto his bed.

"Wait until I finish working. Then… we could maybe renegotiate the terms," he stated and left her alone.

A part of her was disappointed; for a moment there, she allowed herself to think that maybe he wanted to do more than just kiss her. Or that maybe he didn't care for any pointless deals. Now she felt utterly stupid for forgetting who she was dealing with.

Still, something in his voice made her stomach clench with excitement. He probably wasn't planning on making her feel that way, but in addition to the lust in his eyes and the erection she'd felt earlier, Victoria couldn't shake off the feeling that she would, indeed, allow him to kiss her anywhere he damn pleased.

"Get a grip, you idiot," she muttered to herself and rolled over to her stomach.

The sheets smelled like him. The scent had a calming effect, even if she would never admit to lying there and inhaling it deeply, like she was some kind of an addict. Victoria smirked and closed her eyes. Well… She was an addict.

Some time ago, she would probably refuse to talk to him for days, weeks maybe. And it would take a lot more than a kiss to make her go soft. Did it mean that she became weak? Probably. But in this case, it didn't bother her that much. Sherlock had, once again, gone behind her back, making her furious and hurt, but… He did the right thing, in the eyes of most people – the society.

Her father posed a threat, if not now, then a long time ago. Even if he had managed to turn his life around, it did nothing to wipe the blood off his hands. He was still a murderer; a ruthless man, who destroyed her childhood. Victoria's fear was justified, just like her hatred and the lack of actions over the years. No one could blame her for trying to recover. No one could pin the blame on her, but now that someone had pointed out to her that there might have been other people, suffering from the same trauma, just because of her fear… She knew that arguing with Sherlock would be stupid. Actually, it was _always_ stupid, because he couldn't be bothered with understanding other people's motives.

It was weird to realise that there might come a time, when his general reluctance to acknowledge the possibility of being wrong, would leave her hurt so badly that she would feel the same anger she'd felt, when he'd first mentioned her father. Anger that would force her to distance himself from him, to end things between them.

Her arousal was gone, replaced by sadness. Because it really was sad in a way; even with all those signs and small victories, the woman still couldn't see their relationship as something that would last and withstand all of the possible problems. Things were bound to explode, when one of them would finally fuck up monumentally. Victoria didn't want to assume that it would be Sherlock's fault; she wasn't perfect after all, and she had no clue what to do. This relationship looked nothing like any other, resembling walking on thinnest of ice, that was ready to crack any second.

It was an experiment, she realised with a gloom amusement. Months ago she decided that Sherlock would not experiment on her; yet here she was, experimenting on _him_. Or maybe it was mutual?

"This is all really fucked up already," Radcliffe muttered and rolled over again, this time facing the ceiling.

It truly was. But it didn't mean that she couldn't be happy, while it lasted. Victoria deserved to feel something else than stress and constant worry. And Sherlock made her mostly happy, once she learned to read between the lines. Even his ludicrous behaviour didn't change much, as she began to understand it, just as he began to understand his own feelings.

They both had much to learn. Both would end up with a brand new knowledge that, even if they decided to go separate ways, would prove useful in later stages of life. That she was sure of. And it had to be enough, for now.

* * *

Victoria woke up, feeling the mattress shift slightly. Her eyes opened, only to find Sherlock lying next to her. Her mind registered the scent of freshly washed hair and she realised that he must have just taken a shower.

"What time is it?" she muttered sleepily and he frowned.

"Time is irrelevant right now. Sleep."

She closed her eyes, tempted to actually listen to him, but a distant question kept ringing in her head, growing louder and louder, until sleep was no longer an option.

"Sherlock…" Radcliffe started. "Why didn't you want to tell me?"

There was no need to go into details, because Holmes undoubtedly understood her question, judging by the sudden tension in his body. Victoria tried to search his face for any clues, but the lack of light in the room made things difficult.

"Cause you wouldn't like the answer." His reply came as a surprise.

Sherlock Holmes never held back his tongue. He always spoke what was on his mind, which often led to hurting someone. The fact that he stopped himself from telling her something, once again, only proved that, somewhere along the way, he learned how to adapt, if only to a moderate degree. Still, he decided to keep something from her, yet again, and it made her quite irritated. That state didn't last long though, because she realised that the reason for his behaviour had something to do with her father.

"I already told you that knowing things is better than being kept in the dark. I _need_ the answer."

Because she truly did. Now that he had set the wheels in motion, staying away and not interfering didn't seem like an option. She needed to know, to do things the right way. There would be no better chance to face her fears, to conquer demons of the past. It became clearer and clearer, the more she thought about it.

"I assumed that you would want to keep your distance, judging by your initial reaction," Sherlock answered and she sighed.

"Yeah, well… It was easier to just ignore everything, to… To consciously omit every memory I had with him. I don't know if I can do this, but it's already too late. Now I just have to force myself to be a part of this investigation."

"It is the right thing to do," he stated dryly. "I was talking to your brother."

Victoria looked at him sharply and then snorted.

"My brother is _dead_. I don't think you could actually…"

"I'm not talking about Aaron."

The fact that he had known that name… It made her stomach clench, making this entire situation feel more real. She almost laughed, because there should have been no mistake about it before; she bloody well _knew_ that Sherlock had undoubtedly read every file on her family's case. It was the first thing one was supposed to do, after deciding to solve a crime that had gone cold years ago. But she hadn't heard that name in so long…

It rolled off his tongue so easily. To Victoria it seemed almost impossible to even think about that combination of letters, about their sound. Some might say that it was utterly stupid. It was only a name, just like any other. But whenever she'd heard it, she could see her brother's face, covered in blood and traces of salt – the only visible signs of the despair he'd felt in his last moments.

"Aaron is most definitely gone. Your _other_ brother, however, is not," Sherlock continued, clearly missing out on the blank expression of her face and the meaning behind it.

His words were perfectly understandable, but at the same time, Victoria couldn't quite grasp their concept. She didn't have a different sibling. It had always just been her… and _him_. Surely she'd remember something this important, even if her brain was traumatised?

"Victoria?"

"I… I don't…" she stuttered and felt her heart speed up considerably.

Something stopped her from realising the obvious meaning of Sherlock's words. Maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was the overwhelming sense of guilt that had already started to form in her mind.

"Breathe," Holmes ordered calmly, and when she still kept muttering some nonsense syllables, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her tightly; too tightly for it to have been a simple embrace. "Breathe, Victoria."

It took some time, but, finally, her muscles relaxed and she was able to inhale deeply. His scent acted like a calming factor, once again, and the barrier that prevented her from fully acknowledging the message in his words disappeared.

"Please, Sherlock… Please, tell me that he didn't hurt another child of his. My sibling," she whispered into his shirt, while his tight embrace loosened a bit.

The man kept hugging her, probably realising that she needed some form of comfort. It was a good choice on his part; physical contact helped, on the contrary to any attempts at consoling her. Sherlock Holmes was many things, but he didn't specialise in making people _feel better_.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't have to say more. That surprisingly genuine tone of his voice made everything quite clear; it also made her heart clench even more painfully.

"Fuck…" she cursed, feeling overwhelmed with guilt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"Swearing won't change anything. Meeting Luke, however, might."

So his name was Luke. It was a pretty name, she decided, even if it sounded foreign and completely unfamiliar. Victoria had a hard time processing all the new information. She couldn't understand why would meeting him change anything. Did he really want to get to know that one person who could have prevented another tragedy from happening? Or maybe he simply wanted to blame someone for what had happened to him. Either way, it sounded like something Radcliffe couldn't survive.

"He doesn't want to testify. He doesn't want to have anything to do with your father, ever again," Sherlock continued, clearly sensing her hesitation and doubt.

"You can't really blame him," the woman answered, and her voice broke.

"Yes, I can. Just as I blame you for not doing anything for so long," he answered calmly.

His words stung, but she kind of expected them. It was Sherlock, after all, and he had already expressed his displeasure with her passive behaviour. Back then it might have been the outcome of his own addiction talking; he simply wanted to crack another case open, to solve a _mystery._ But right now, he had other motives as well. He wanted to protect her, and that fact made being mad at him fairly difficult.

"Trust me… It's… It's not that simple. Not when you have to relive the same nightmare over and over. We only wanted to survive. To save… _ourselves_."

"Yes, it is understandable. Egoism is natural, even if humanity is so hell-bent on trying to overthrow that belief." Sherlock scoffed and, to her surprise, he started to trace a circle on her bare arm with his finger. "However, in the terms of what's right and wrong, allowing a criminal to walk freely, is a rather poor choice, isn't it? I believe you already have proof of that."

"Fuck, you're so insensitive sometimes," she sighed and hugged him back, nuzzling her nose against his skin, like she did hours ago. This time it wasn't sexual though; she just wanted comfort, and he seemed to get that. "But you're also right."

"Always."

Victoria snorted and closed her eyes. She saw no point in continuing this conversation, as suddenly the reason for her meeting with Luke became quite obvious. She began to understand that hiding from the past was wrong, even if Sherlock forced her to do that by leaving no other choice. Luke still wanted to do what was right for him, and someone had to convince him that there were other ways; better ways.

And who would do that better than her? The first victim of Joseph Radcliffe's madness?


	26. Chapter 24

**A/N: Let me just say that... I'm really sorry - AGAIN. I know that you're probably tired of hearing it by now, but believe me... I really want to keep a somewhat regular updating schedule. I hope that maybe now I will finally be able to. FIngers crossed! As usual, thank you for your lovely reviews and support. I'm looking forward to seeing what you think of this chapter, as it is...**

 **Well, let's say the "M" rating is official as of now, so... Chapter's pretty HOT and it also stresses me out, cause I don't know if I managed to write such a scene in a way that's not only good, but also fitting for my characters. PLEASE, LET ME KNOW!**

* * *

The emptiness was not something she expected – not when everything in her life started to fall into its place. Few weeks ago she was happy, even unbelievably so. The impossible had happened and she could consider herself truly special; she'd forced the infamous Sherlock Holmes to face his own feelings, after all.

Victoria felt quite stupid for allowing herself to believe that things could actually stay wonderful. Nothing ever worked that way, at least not when her life was concerned. She should have guessed that something would fuck things up in the most unexpected moment.

She was so tired… Sleep was starting to sound more like a wish that could never come true, rather than something normal. Whenever she lied down, that one name begun echoing in her mind, reminding her of a broken music box. Luke. Her brother – another creation of the monster she used to call her father. Another victim.

It was easier to just… _feel nothing_ than to let that overwhelming sense of guilt consume her body. Victoria had never wanted for it to happen – it was never her intention to let him hurt another person. But she did nothing to stop him. She just lived, thinking that she could run away from her terrible past and the trauma that haunted her dreams to this day. It seemed like a good thing to do – actually, the _only_ thing. But it still didn't make anything better. It still didn't answer a question that was slowly driving her mad: how do you apologise for something unforgivable?

"Radcliffe, my office. Now." Lestrade's voice reached her ears and she realised that she hadn't moved in a long time, staring at the same piece of paper.

Begrudgingly, the woman stood up and followed her boss. She could tell that he was angry; his footsteps echoed through the suddenly quiet office, making her stomach clench painfully.

"What is going on with you?" Greg asked, as soon as she sat across his desk and lowered her gaze.

"Nothing."

"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" he said, forcing her to scowl. No, she didn't. But telling him the truth seemed like an impossible thing to do. "Speak or I'll suspend you."

She raised her eyes and met his gaze with reluctance. His expression was stern and so unlike the lenient boss she usually talked to. Apparently her poor effort didn't go unnoticed.

"It's personal, Greg."

"Don't fucking start," he warned her and shook his head. "I'm not a stranger, am I? I've never seen you in such state. I mean look at you." He waved his hand with outrage and sighed. "I've seen corpses that seemed healthier."

"Thanks, that really makes me feel better," she mocked, but knew that he was right.

Lack of sleep did nothing for her beauty or performance.

"Vic… Did he hurt you?" Greg asked, clearly referring to Sherlock, so she shook her head.

"No, it's not about Holmes."

"What is it about then?!"

Victoria closed her eyes and leaned forward, putting her weight on the elbows.

"I fucked up, alright? And I have no idea how to fix it, because, frankly, it's impossible to fix."

"Did you kill someone?" he mocked, but she only smirked in response.

"Might as well have. I'm pretty sure there were times, when death would feel like a precious gift. An act of mercy."

Lestrade blinked, clearly dumbfounded by her cryptic words. He didn't understand their meaning – how could he? – but he certainly realised that Victoria's problem ran deeper than he originally thought. He sat down and looked at her cautiously.

"Victoria…" he started, but she only shook her head.

"It's not something you can help me with."

"Very well. Off you go then. Mary's waiting for you downstairs," Lestrade stated and pointed his finger to the door.

Radcliffe opened her eyes and found him with a nasty smile. Did he just say…

"Mary?"

"Yes, Mary Watson. You know, John's wife?"

"Why is she…"

Victoria stopped and rolled her eyes. Of course. Sherlock. She should have known that he would eventually force someone to try and help her, because he clearly didn't know how. But why on Earth did he choose _her_?

She couldn't exactly say that Mary was her favourite person in the whole world. After she'd almost killed Sherlock, even if she also saved his life, it was hard not to hold a grudge against her. It was probably irrational, since Mary cared for Holmes deeply – she just loved John more. Victoria understood her motives, she truly did, but… She still remembered that overwhelming sense of despair upon finding out that he had been shot, and she never wanted to go through that again.

Sherlock must have noticed that Mary's company made her feel somewhat uneasy. Why did he decide that she would be the best person to help? Victoria sighed and stood up, knowing that avoiding a licensed assassin was kind of pointless. She could hide all she wanted, but Watson would still track her down.

"Splendid," she said and shot Lestrade an angry stare – one he ignored with a bright smile.

She walked out of the office and headed downstairs to face something that was bound to be a very uncomfortable experience.

* * *

"So… Victoria. Sherlock tells me you show signs of classic depression," Mary stated and Victoria rolled her eyes with cold amusement.

"Seriously?"

"I think he's matched your behaviour to a textbook," the woman admitted and shrugged. "You know him. He's hardly an expert on… well, humans."

Victoria didn't answer. She took a sip of her coffee instead, and continued to stare at Watson with reluctant interest.

"Why am I here?"

"Because he wants to help you. Only he doesn't know how. He feels terribly guilty." Mary smiled softly and the detective averted her gaze.

"This isn't his fault. It's mine and mine alone. I didn't count on him acting all sensitive and caring," Victoria said with a bitter smile. "I even told him that."

"Yes, but he is kind of guilty, huh? He opened old wounds without asking if you can survive this."

Radcliffe shrugged and scowled slightly. There was no point in denying that Sherlock's actions were rather insensitive. It hurt, sure, but she had known better than to blame him for doing something _right_ , for trying to fix something she'd ruined with her own fear and cowardice. No, she really didn't blame him.

"Look… It's not about Sherlock, okay? I know he probably thinks that, like most humans, I will hold it against him forever, but… It's not about him," she said one more time and sighed deeply.

"I know," Mary answered and smiled gently, to Victoria's surprise. "You're not like most people. Even though you dislike me for hurting Sherlock, you are still able to assess this entire situation with cold logic. It makes me think that being angry with him for doing the right thing is not something you would choose."

The detective appraised the woman carefully and then she offered a stiff nod.

"Yeah. No matter how much I'd like to blame it on someone else, I was the one who fucked up. And I really don't know what to do about it."

"Oh, you _know_ what. You just don't want to, because it will be the most unpleasant thing you've ever done."

Radcliffe sighed again and leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows.

"Fine. It will probably go horribly wrong and I expect nothing else. I can't. Cause, you see, if someone told me that I could have had a peaceful childhood…" she broke off and clenched her teeth with anger.

"Victoria… You do realise that your brother doesn't want to testify for the _exact same_ reason? He wants to move one, to forget, hoping that the past won't catch up to him," Mary said and smiled humourlessly. "I did the same thing. I allowed myself to be happy, but we both know that if it wasn't for Sherlock…"

She didn't have to finish that sentence; Victoria remembered Sherlock's heroism all too well. It was not only incredibly stupid and brave, but it somehow led to a change in their relations, which made it ultimately unforgettable.

"I don't know what to say to him," she admitted quietly and closed her eyes with agony. "Mostly because… Because if I had a chance to do it differently… I probably wouldn't. All those years spent in denial allowed me to get back on my feet. I learned how to live my life, instead of chasing a ghost, consumed by obsession."

"Why don't you tell him that?" Mary asked and Victoria opened her eyes.

"Because that's not what I'd want to hear if I were him."

"So you'd rather hear lies, is that it?"

"I'd want to hear that it was a mistake, a huge one at that. That someone regrets it, sincerely," Victoria answered and scowled.

"But you _do_ regret it, don't you?"

"Do I? I've just said that I would do it again. How is that _regret_?"

Mary smiled and shrugged dismissively.

"You decided to save yourself, which is a natural human instinct. It often leads to wrong decisions, yes, but… Sometimes it's just too strong. And regretting that things could have been different, that you could have been stronger… I believe it's the most sincere apology you can offer."

Victoria fell silent for a moment, allowing Mary's words to sink in. The woman was right in a way. There was no point in saying things that weren't true, even if it meant admitting to being weak. She just wished there was something else to say, something that might give her a shot at forgiveness…

It was stupid and quite vain, but Radcliffe wanted him to not only understand, but also take away the guilt that was consuming her mind. A part of her needed to hear that it was okay; that her cowardice didn't ruin his life completely. Like any other human, she wanted to be forgiven – but it was also a terrible thing to want.

"There is no point in torturing yourself, Victoria," Mary said quietly. "Whatever his reaction may be, there's nothing you can do to fix things. _Nothing_. You can only be honest, hoping that it will be enough to convince him to help the case."

It sounded harsh, but Mary was right. No matter how much time she'd spent on trying to find the perfect solution, such a thing didn't exist, especially in this case. Some things were just irreparable.

"It's just… It's so hard to live knowing that your actions have led to someone's suffering," she admitted and smiled bitterly. "I thought that… That I would never have to face such thoughts. I'm a detective, for fuck's sake, I _help_ people."

Mary didn't answer for a moment, but her expression changed slightly. A frown appeared on her forehead and her eyes seemed to be looking _through_ Victoria, as she delved into her own thoughts.

"I've killed many people, Victoria. It's not the same thing, it's worse. At first it was hard to accept my… _ugliness_. Taking someone's life is, after all, terrible – even if it belongs to someone rotten to the core. It always leaves a mark on your soul," she said and glanced towards the window. "I know that it's hard not to hate yourself, but if _I_ allowed myself to be happy… I think you will find a way to do it too. And, ironically, meeting your brother might be helpful in that matter. He can surprise you, for all you know."

There was no need to answer that statement. Victoria really couldn't believe it, but their conversation have left her feeling… _peaceful_. Not better, no… But she could at least force herself to think about calling Luke. The guilt was still there. It still weighed on her, but the numbness started to retreat slowly, allowing her to realise that she couldn't fix _everything_ and that it had to be simply accepted.

"I never actually apologised to you," Mary said and Radcliffe glanced at her with confusion. "For shooting Sherlock."

"It doesn't change anything," Victoria said and Watson shrugged.

"For you, it doesn't. But hurting him… Well, I think you're able to understand how guilty I feel."

"You did what you had to. What you _thought_ was best at the moment."

"And I would do it again. Doesn't mean I don't regret it."

A knowing smile appeared on her face and Victoria couldn't help, but to smile back. Mary never meant to hurt Holmes. Hell, she'd probably die for him if life put him in danger and she could save him. A terrible chain of events forced her to do something she didn't want and Radcliffe really could understand her choice – now more than ever.

"Well, you _did_ call the ambulance, so I can't really hold it against you forever." Radcliffe rolled her eyes and Mary laughed.

"Good thing I did. It's been so fun, watching Sherlock trying to get a hold over his feelings. It's a struggle I'm never going to be tired of watching."

Victoria snorted and smiled to herself, when Holmes' baffled expression popped into her head. Yes, it was definitely amusing. She also couldn't ignore the sudden warmth that spread throughout her body, when she realised that Sherlock had been the one to arrange this meeting with Mary. Did he really know that it would help? Or was he just guessing?

"He deserved to be loved," Mary said and Radcliffe glanced up surprised. "He is a good man. I'm glad he found someone who really sees that in him, who appreciates him for who he is. Don't let yourself forget that he cares for you, more than he's able to understand. Even if he pushes you away… Remember that it's not so easy to switch off feelings. Don't let him think otherwise."

Victoria smiled and nodded, as the warmth continued spreading in her body. Knowing that Holmes cared for her was one things, but… Hearing it from someone else was precious; it made everything even more real and deliciously exciting.

"I won't. Thanks, Mary," she said and offered her a grateful look.

"No problem. What are friends for?"

* * *

Victoria was truly exhausted. She rarely felt the need to just lie down and just allow herself to fall apart completely. The meeting with Mary left her in a weird state, when suddenly all of the emotions that were previously muted, came back with such a force that she had to take an early leave from work, just to cry herself to sleep. When she finally awoke, it was already dark outside.

Despite her continuous drowsiness, she decided that a long bath was something that would help her recover – both physically and mentally. She couldn't wait to feel the hot water surrounding her and releasing the tension from her muscles, like the best ailment. With a longing sigh, Radcliffe barged into the bathroom and started to strip out of her clothes and shed them to the floor without a care for the world.

As soon as the calming sounds of running water reached her ears, she felt calmer and allowed herself to think. She thought about Mary and their… unexpected bond. She thought about Luke and the meeting she had yet to endure. It was overwhelming, to say the least, but somehow her mind seemed ready to face it, to even imagine it, which was a great start.

Victoria got so lost in her own musings that she couldn't even tell how much time had passed. The water started to go cold, but she didn't feel like leaving this heavenly, peaceful place, so she simply poured some more hot, steaming water into the bathtub, along with some scented body wash, and closed her eyes again.

She jumped up, completely startled, when the door opened and Sherlock walked inside. Victoria felt anger boiling inside her, alongside with shame, but this time around, she refused to act like a teenager. Her body was still covered with remaining foam, as she stayed submerged in the water. Her eyes glared daggers at the man, who seemed to be polite enough to only look at the _covered_ parts of her.

"Sherlock… I suggest you turn around and leave," she threatened in a cold voice, but he only frowned, his eyes glued to the foam that covered her breasts.

"I've already seen you naked," he stated bluntly, forcing her to sigh.

He had, actually. She still remembered how ashamed it made her feel. Sherlock's intense gaze burnt holes in her body then, but right now it seemed almost pleasant; he could look anywhere and he still chose those parts that were hidden from his eyesight, telling her that he had to be interested in her as a woman.

"Only because you violated my privacy once before," she stated, ignoring the sudden warmth spreading throughout her lower abdomen.

"More than once, but… who's counting," he answered, almost automatically. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but decided against it.

Victoria had a pretty good idea of what it might have been; the meeting with Mary. She refused to answer any of Sherlock's messages, which, undoubtedly, made him quite irritated; his presence in her very bathroom testified to that. But honestly, Radcliffe needed to stay away just for one day, one evening, just to clear her mind and come to terms with the unexpected turn of her life.

Part of her was angry that he denied her this lonesome time, but, on the other hand, she was quite happy to see him. His face showed nothing, as usual, but there was _something_ in his eyes that made her convinced of Sherlock's eagerness to see her and make sure she was alright.

"It went fine, Holmes. You can stop fretting about it," she stated and smiled briefly, before looking away and closing her eyes.

"I wasn't _fretting_. I'm just curious if my suspicion proved to be correct." His answer came in an irritated voice that only caused her to nod politely.

He was lying and it made Victoria incredibly satisfied.

"Yes, it did. So you can probably leave and proceed with… well, whatever it is that you're planning on doing."

To her surprise, he fell silent for a moment and then she heard the rustling of some fabric; one of her eyes opened, as she glanced his way, only to find him unbuttoning the shirt.

"Um… What is happening?" she asked, completely dumbfounded, but also weirdly hypnotised by the sight of his fingers, slowly undoing buttons and revealing pale skin.

"I can't exactly join you wearing clothes, can I?"

Victoria continued staring at him for a moment, which didn't stop his ministrations. She found her words, when Sherlock's shirt hit the ground, leaving him half-naked. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him in such state, but never before could she blatantly ogle his body without feeling guilty.

What surprised her about Holmes' physique, was that he could easily catch every women's eye, even if he wasn't the most muscular, beautifully built man. His abdomen was flat and taut, and the outline of muscles were definitely visible; he must have exercised to some extent, keeping his body in good shape. Still, he didn't look like one of those gym-boys Olivia hooked up with all the time. He was normal, but in the best way possible.

Maybe it was the matter of his confidence and complete lack of shame, but Victoria couldn't help, but to follow the movement of his hands with caution and excitement that slowly started to build in her lower abdomen. She watched him unbuckle his belt, pull the zipper down and her mouth went dry.

"Sherlock…" she muttered, but he ignored the hesitation in her voice. "It's not exactly a bathtub for _two_."

"Let's test that theory, shall we?"

Victoria barely averted her gaze, before he pulled down both his trousers and underwear. She felt incredibly tempted to look, but she couldn't wrap her mind around the situation. Only few days ago he seemed utterly confused by his own reactions, when she'd kissed his neck, and now he was stripping out of clothes and intending to join her in the bath.

"Sherlock…"

"Move," he ordered and Victoria found herself unable to resist that sudden dominancy in his voice.

A moment later, water shifted when he entered the tub and started to lower himself slowly. First she felt his thighs right next to hers, then it was his hands, wrapping themselves around her waist and bringing her closer. And suddenly she felt _everything;_ his chest, his breath ghosting over the skin of her neck and his erection, pressing into her lower back.

She became fully aware of the fact that his hands no longer grabbed her waist; he moved them upwards, just underneath her breasts, where he could undoubtedly feel the erratic, raging heartbeat.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked, and Victoria cleared her throat.

Was she? No. He wasn't the first man to hold her in that position, but she had never expected that Sherlock could do something like that out of his own free will. They made progress, when it came to physical contact, but she didn't think, even for a second, that he was ready to become _this_ intimate. There were no barriers left.

"Are you?" she asked quietly and felt his chin rest against her shoulder.

"Mm… Not necessarily, no." He fell silent, but Victoria had no doubts that he intended to speak some more. "Janine used to love taking baths together and I became… quite used to it." Radcliffe rolled her eyes and scoffed, to Sherlock's surprise. "What?"

"Nothing. You just mentioned your ex, while holding your very naked… um, current partner?" she said and sighed. "Not the best move."

"Janine meant nothing, you know that. She was just a mean to an end."

"Doesn't mean I have to be happy about that arrangement of yours."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Detective Radcliffe," he stated, but she only shrugged in response, causing his hands to move slightly upwards, grazing her breasts.

For a moment, no one said anything and Victoria started to relax. Being simply held by him felt nice; the softness of his skin only made things better, just as his scent and the warmth emitted by his body. She could stay like that forever, even if a part of her mind wanted things to go much further.

Suddenly the direction of her thoughts shifted, as Victoria began to think about Sherlock and Janine. He admitted – quite freely – that they shared some kind of intimacy. For fuck's sake, she'd even heard the woman's giggles, when she was in the bathroom with him. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that they became… physically close.

Radcliffe still couldn't help, but to wonder about the true nature of said closeness. She highly doubted that Sherlock would ever be interested in having sex with her, but… well, his body functioned quite normally; the proof of that was now poking her back. But was he able to force himself to do something this extreme, just to get what he wanted in the end?

"Just ask the question already," Sherlock muttered, and Victoria rolled her eyes again.

Of course he knew about her inner battle, even without seeing her expression.

"Did you have sex? With Janine?"

The man didn't even flinch, as he clearly expected that question. He scoffed mockingly and sighed.

"No, to her great dismay. She couldn't understand why I kept saying no to her."

"Why did you?" Radcliffe asked seemingly calm, although he had to sense her raging heart.

"Because she didn't interest me."

Victoria swallowed and tried to decide whether she should question him so more, but he sighed and – probably – rolled his eyes.

"Did anyone… interest you? Like… Ever?"

"Is this your way of asking me if I'm a virgin?"

"Um… yes?" She blushed horribly. He couldn't see it, but he probably sensed the sudden heat wave that started to radiate off of her body.

Sherlock didn't answer at first, but Radcliffe was sure that he was just trying to find the right words. It couldn't have been easy – talking about sex in general. She suspected that he deemed anything even related to intimacy as unworthy of his attention. Was he changing his views merely for her? Or was he _really_ interested in what it would feel like to just lose himself in this maze of swirling emotions and that undefinable feeling that could only be compared to pure ecstasy?

Shiver ran down her spine and Sherlock's embrace tightened. His body suddenly became even more pronounced and she bit down on her lip, just to stop herself from fidgeting.

"Sex never interested me. It seemed to be an unnecessary, completely pointless activity. I tend to preoccupy myself with things of much greater purpose. I don't give in to the most primitive urges a human can have," he stated a bit absentmindedly and scoffed. "Mycroft always thought that sex alarmed me, because I wasn't able to understand it. But I always did; it just never occurred important."

Victoria wanted to say something, to comment on his words, but he clearly wasn't finished. He started to trace circles on her skin with his thumb, which he tended to do a lot lately, always when his thoughts were somewhere else. So, no matter how distractive his touch was, she allowed him to focus and continue, without any interferences.

"I considered it a sign of weakness. Not because of the sentiment standing behind it, although those things are rarely separated. It drives people to act like animals, in a way. To lose control, to stop _thinking_ – which is not something I could ever do. It's chaotic, messy, and, from what I gathered, there's a lot of bodily fluids involved. Why would I purposefully condemn myself to something that would only serve as a distraction – very primitive one at that?"

Something about the logical tone of his voice made her amused. It was so like him to analyse everything, even things that weren't supposed to be analysed. Only Sherlock Holmes could describe this passionate act with such coolness to his voice, with such surgical precision. Yet Victoria was sure that there was something else in his tone – a spark of self-doubt, which didn't occur very often. Never, actually. So she simply cleared her throat and shifted slightly, turning her head to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Why indeed? But, you know… I think you've looked at it from the wrong perspective," she said quietly and watched as the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you saying this, because you want me to have sex with you?" he asked ironically, forcing her to roll her eyes.

"No. I mean yes, I do want to have sex with you, but I wouldn't lie to you just for my own benefit," she stated, surprising herself with how clear her voice sounded, despite the meaning of her words. "I still think that the way you're looking at it is… Well, clinical. Not wrong, but dry and completely missing the point."

"Which would be…?"

"Sex is chaotic, Sherlock, but you _thrive_ in chaos. Sex is addictive, but so are the drugs. Not mentioning the fact that the high that comes with it is exhilarating. The rush of adrenaline, the roaring sound of your blood pumping through your veins, and all those thoughts that keep circling your mind relentlessly… And then there's silence. For a brief moment you feel light as feather, numb, but not in a bad kind of way – almost like you could do anything."

She briefly noticed that his hold on her tightened even more. For a second she actually wanted to turn around and start whispering those words into his ear; sudden change of the atmosphere was evident. Her voice became lower somewhere along the way, as tension started to build up deep inside her body. Victoria was painfully aware of the fact that she hadn't felt said ecstasy in a very long time. To talk about it now, in front of a man that managed to slither his way into her heart, seemed almost agonising.

"All I'm saying is…" She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Sex may be primitive, messy, pointless… But it can also be bloody fantastic."

Sherlock didn't answer; his body was still tense for a moment, and then he relaxed completely. Victoria didn't know what caused this sudden change, but she felt as though something just _clicked_ in that brilliant mind of his, and she was eager to find out.

"I'm beginning to realise that many things that I deemed unworthy, can turn out to be a pleasant distraction. I didn't think such a term could be used in a logical sentence, but… Our relationship hasn't been slowing me down or dulling my senses. It did make me prone to mistakes, true, but those would happen regardless of my decision to keep you close, I see that now. The sentiment is already there, whether I like it or not, and I find that it would serve me best to… embrace the new state of things. And everything that comes with it. Mostly because trying to get rid of those feelings is not only impossible, but also consuming to the point, where I'm not able to think about anything else. Which is shocking, really."

Victoria let out a small laugh and rested her head against his shoulder.

"That it is," she agreed and smiled with satisfaction. "You have no idea how surprised I am to hear you admit to being human."

"I'm surprised that I actually feel human. Sometimes. And it's not an entirely unpleasant sensation."

"You think?" Radcliffe mocked and she could almost feel him rolling his eyes.

"I do. It is especially pleasant now," he answered and raised one of his hands to trace the skin on her arm with his finger. "I never appreciated your physique, your beauty. But somewhere along the way… My body started to react to your touch, to your voice, to the softness of your skin. Confusing as it is, it's also a sensation I found myself craving. Something that started off as a spark of curiosity – a quickly dismissed curiosity, to be precise - became etched into my mind. It's not going to disappear. I didn't want it, I never asked for it. But since I have it… I feel like it would be a wasted opportunity to just ignore this need."

Her heart sped up so much that she could barely breathe. His words were, as usual, very indirect, very clouded, but she had no troubles figuring out what they meant. It became clear, when his fingers grazed her breast – hesitantly, almost like it was an accident. The thing about Sherlock Holmes was, he never did anything by accident.

"So… You're saying that you have no idea how it has come to that, but you're attracted to me? In the most human, primitive way?" Victoria asked quietly, but she couldn't stop the slightly mischievous smile that crept on her lips.

"Yes… And no. My reasons for wanting you have nothing to do with basic, primitive urges that control most people. They wouldn't be possible, if it wasn't for many different factors that have everything to do with who you _are_. The fact that you're a beautiful woman, by society's standards, is not the first thing that caught my interest, nor will it ever become the most important. I started to notice it, yes, and it opened my eyes to certain aspects of life that have never been particularly interesting – sex being one of them. But it has nothing to do with my attraction towards you."

Victoria stopped breathing for a moment. She tensed, as a flood of feelings washed over her body, making her unable to move. She expected some kind of an explanation, a _reason_ for his change. However she did not expect him to be this sincere and this… She couldn't even find the right word to describe it.

He wasn't trying to compliment her, to make her feel good about herself. No, to him those words were logical and answered the question perfectly – nothing more or less. But to her… They were everything. She could feel sexy, beautiful and attractive; men often called her pretty or other meaningless adjectives. But Sherlock didn't care for those things – he cared for who she was, which was even greater. Somehow a man, who was supposed to be a sociopath, managed to make her feel not only beautiful, but also appreciated in the deepest meaning of that word. It wasn't her looks that made her special. It was something entirely else – the very core of her being.

"Sherlock…" she whispered shakily and he tensed.

"Are you going to cry?" he asked, a bit alarmed, and Victoria smiled, despite raging emotions.

"No, I don't think so. Just… Thank you," she said, which only made him more confused. "I needed to hear that."

She needed to hear much less, but there could be no complaining.

"Yes, your question strongly indicated that need," Sherlock answered ironically and then fell silent.

Victoria closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax once again. She felt truly exhausted; the emotional rollercoaster of their conversation had taken its toll on her. It was nice to just lean into his touch and let her thoughts drift away to a void space, where nothing mattered anymore. A content sight escaped her lips and she smiled.

Her state of bliss didn't last long though; Sherlock shifted behind her and she felt his breath ghosting over her ear. The question that sounded in the air a moment later made Victoria freeze in shock.

"Can I touch you?"

It took her a while to compose herself. She swallowed hard and said:

"You _are_ touching me." Her answer made him scoff, and a blush cover Victoria's face.

It was the outcome of both the embarrassment and excitement. Holmes' fingers moved again, slowly caressing both of her arms. His fingertips brushed against the sides of her breasts, and the woman stopped breathing again.

"Sherlock, you d-don't… Don't have to," she stuttered after an agonisingly long minute, filled with the softness of his touch.

She didn't know whether this was intentional, but he managed to awaken her body yet again, even if a moment ago she wanted to just drift away.

"Of course I don't," he agreed, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable. Suddenly it started to sound darker, raspier, making her squeeze her thighs ever so slightly, but enough for him to notice. "But you want me to. And I think I want to do it."

"You think?"

"Mm…"

Before she could say anything, he forced her to tilt her head back and close her eyes, as his finger traced an invisible line from her collarbone down to the sternum, right between her breasts. It didn't stop there, though. It travelled down to the stomach, tickling her slightly, but not in an unpleasant way. Her skin seemed to ignite with a wild flame, wherever he touched it, and the cooling effect of the water did nothing to help. It only made her even more aware of the warmth that radiated off of his body, of the hot arousal that ran through her veins.

He barely even touched her. It was ridiculous how strongly her body reacted. She was the experienced one in this relationship; he should be the one quivering at even the most innocent gestures, but she simply couldn't help it. Having him so close was like a dream – a dream that was never supposed to come true, as it resembled one of those deepest desires that stayed hidden forever.

But when his hand finally travelled back to her breast and cupped it lightly, the dream started to feel so real that she wanted to scream. His actions were still a bit hesitant, but she didn't mind; especially when his thumb grazed her nipple, while the other hand kept exploring plains of her stomach.

"Does it feel good?" he whispered into her ear, looking for a confirmation that he was, indeed, doing a decent job, but just the sound of his voice sent a jolt throughout her body, and she shivered with pleasure.

God… It sounded almost dirty, even if he didn't mean it. She almost wanted him to repeat that phrase, only to get off on the rich, sultry tone that she'd never expected to hear; not from him anyway.

"Yes," she answered, and he stopped for a split of a second.

Victoria guessed that he was surprised to hear that breathy sound; it hardly resembled her usual voice – demanding and firm. It sounded more like a plea, a desperate request for him to continue, which was true to a degree. She wanted him to continue… But she also wanted so much more.

When his fingers pinched her nipple lightly, Victoria gasped, but he was smarter than to take it as a sign of pain. Involuntarily, she shifted, pressing herself even harder against him, like it could somehow force him to move his hand to where she wanted it the most. He was so close… His fingers kept bordering on the invisible line, just below the navel. He didn't cross it – not even once – but she could still feel the tension of muscles that twitched with every move, unable to deal with the agonising torture he inflicted upon her, without even knowing.

Out of the blue she realised that he was probably lost. He probably knew what to do, but wasn't sure on the "how". She was probably the first woman he'd ever touched; the feeling of her skin underneath his fingertips was foreign and new. He did not want to hurt her; Sherlock Holmes always strived for greatness, even when it came to do the most prosaic activities. And pleasing her probably didn't count as one of those.

"Touch me, Sherlock," she said. "You're the master of observing people, and there are some situations, where even I wouldn't be able to play you. Just touch me and see what happens."

Suddenly the hesitation was gone, and so was her ability to breathe properly. His fingers crossed that invisible line and moved downwards, ghosting over her pubic mound, only to travel sideways to the right thigh.

"This feels… Surprisingly pleasant," he stated and she felt his nose against her neck.

Couple of days ago, she was the one who put him in that position, and it almost made her smile; _almost,_ cause Victoria was too busy focusing on his right hand, which grabbed her thigh and moved it, spreading her legs a bit wider. Just like that, her mind turned into a mush, consisting of chaotic thoughts, interrupted by jolts of pleasure that left her unable to function.

He kissed her neck, allowing his fingers to venture back to the space just below her navel. Victoria let out a soft moan, tilting her head to the side and giving him a better access.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" he muttered, clearly expecting her to answer.

"Sherlock…" she whispered. "Sex _is_ pleasant. All of it."

"So it would seem."

His hand found itself between her thighs and even if she wanted to answer, she couldn't. For someone who had never touched a woman before, Sherlock had a pretty good sense of female anatomy; it took him mere seconds to slide his finger down her folds, eliciting a louder moan that sounded even breathier, raspier than the previous one. It took him another second to realise, where he could find the most sensitive spot.

"Sherlock…" she breathed out, completely unconsciously, but the pleading in her voice made him stop.

"Am I doing something wrong?" he asked, forcing Victoria to shake her head and move against his fingers without any shame.

"No… Please, don't stop. Please," she repeated and felt his erection twitch.

The woman raised her arm and wrapped it around his neck, entangling her fingers in the damp curls of his hair; the soft texture of his hair was pleasant, even if she longed to touch him elsewhere. It was still better than the gaping void she felt inside, that undeniable need to have him – all of him.

His fingers resumed sliding up and down, rubbing circles and exploring her most intimate parts, driving her absolutely crazy. At first his touch lacked the intensity; it was too light, too safe to make her squirm, but when she grabbed his hand and pressed harder, moaning shamelessly, he realised that he didn't have to act with this much caution. And then… Then everything turned into a haze filled with colours, sounds and ecstasy.

Orgasm hit her out of the blue, knocking her out of breath. For a second she found herself in a limbo, feeling almost weightless and satisfied to the core. She could still feel Sherlock's fingers and lips against her skin, intensifying the pleasure and prolonging the bliss. A moment later she opened her eyes and realised that she was still in the bathroom.

"You sure you haven't done that before?" Victoria stuttered after another minute, when she finally mustered the strength to speak.

"Fairly sure. You're extremely easy to please," he stated and she couldn't help, but to notice the tension in his voice.

It had nothing to do with anxiousness or anything negative; it was the voice of someone who was incredibly aroused and tried to fight it. Sherlock Holmes hated not being in control of his own actions, feelings… _everything_. Victoria wanted so badly to just turn around and show him that it was okay to lose it, once in a while, but something stopped her.

"But that's understandable… You haven't done that in a very long time, have you?" he asked, oblivious to her inner battle.

Sherlock clearly tried to focus on something else than his own throbbing erection and chose Victoria as the distraction. Well… He didn't have much of a choice, but it was still a poor decision. When she moved slightly, he tensed and closed his eyes for a moment, probably fighting to urge to press against her, looking for a release.

"No, I haven't," Radcliffe admitted and turned her head to look at him. "Thank you."

"What for?" Holmes sounded genuinely surprised by her words, but she only smiled.

"For making me feel good, obviously. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

"And now I want to return the favour," she stated and he froze.

"No need. It will go away, always does."

Something about the way he said it made her want to giggle like a little girl, but she stopped herself in time. He wouldn't appreciate it, nor was it necessary to make fun of his innocence.

"Sherlock…" she whispered and forced herself to move.

Turning around in such a limited space wasn't easy, but she somehow managed to straddle him. Looking into his eyes felt… absolutely mesmerising. His usually light irises were darker, and she couldn't tell if it was the fault of lighting, or his pupils – dilated so much that filled almost all the space.

"Can I touch you?" Victoria asked, and watched as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Don't be afraid to lose yourself… It's not going to change who you are."

He was silent for a moment, but, eventually, he offered a stiff nod and clenched his fingers over the rims of the tub. And so she touched him – gently and slowly. She watched his reactions, adjusting her movement accordingly. Apparently he was quite ticklish on his stomach, which she would have found quite adorable, if it wasn't for his ragged breathing and deep growls that resonated through the air, whenever she encountered a sensitive spot.

When her fingers had eventually found his throbbing, hot erection, a moan escaped his lips – deep and so, so raspy that she felt the need to whimper. God, he didn't even know… He didn't even know what he could do to her with that voice. He didn't even have to touch her, to make her lightheaded.

Victoria caressed him gently, letting him adjust to this new situation, but the involuntary movement of his hips told her that he was beyond the point of overanalysing the situation. Some parts of him probably wanted to cling to his consciousness, but… But when her fingers wrapped themselves around his erection and started moving up and down its length, Sherlock Holmes became as human as possible.

It didn't take much to send him over the edge; she watched his mouth open in the absolute bliss, and she decided that it was a mesmerising sight – one she could watch over and over, and she still wouldn't have enough. With a smile, the women leaned forward and kissed his cheek, whispering:

"Told you it would be bloody fantastic."

To her surprise, Sherlock's eyes opened abruptly and he grinned like a lunatic.

"I'm inclined to agree that sex might, in fact, resemble drugs. I just had an epiphany and I really need to call John."

"W-what?" she stuttered, completely baffled.

"I believe I've just solved the case. Isn't that marvellous?"

Victoria pushed herself away and watched him with utter awe.

"Sherlock… Let me get this straight. I've just given you a handjob and you… you were _solving a crime_?! In the meantime?!"

"Of course not, it was rather impossible to think. Orgasms seem very powerful _and_ pleasant, in fact. But as it happens, they also make one's mind incredibly clear and sharp, so… Could you move? I really need to call John."

Unbelievable. He was fucking unbelievable.


End file.
